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"Have  you  never  seen  a  village  country  belle, 
starting  on  a  traveling  trip,  dressed  in  more  colors 
than  you  can  crowd  into  a  chromo,  enter  a  railroad 
car,  with  head  up  and  plumes  flying,  expecting  to 
set  every  woman  in  that  car  wild  with  envy  as  she 
walks  down  the  aisle  ?" — See  page  100. 


By  ROBERT   J.  BURDETTE, 
[THE    "BURLLNGTCN    KAWKSYE »    I/IAN.] 


^. 


XEW    YORK  ; 

G,    l^V,    Carletoii    &    Co.,    Publishers^ 

MADISON     SQUARE. 
MDCCCLXXX. 


COPYRIGHT,     1879, 

BY 

«.     W.     CAKLETON    &    CO. 


Samuel  Stoddeb,  Tro-w 

Stereotyper,  Frinting  a>-d  Book  Binding  Co. 

SO  AiiN  Street,  N.  Y.  N.  Y. 


PREFACE. 


Will  the  coining  man  drink  ?  Will  the  coming 
man  smoke?  Will  the  coming  humorist  require  a 
creface  for  his  book  ?  These  are  the  paramount 
problems  of  the  time,  pedestrian  matches  aside,  and, 
between  you  and  me,  esteemed  reader,  I  should  like 
to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  about  it,  anyway  ? 
There  are  books  and  books,  and,  if  my  publisher  is  to 
be  believed,  this  tome  is  to  consume  at  least  eight 
cords  of  tinted  calendered  paper,  and  six  million  yards 
of  that  extraordinary  fabric,  known  as  muslin  to  the 
initiated.  Well,  it  ought — if  the  quantity  of  yards  of 
muslin  bears  any  reasonable  proportion  to  the  number 
of  lamps  of  midnight  oil  the  author  has  consumed  in 
rescuing  from  the  ruthless  hands  of  the  provincial 
press  the  children  of  his  brain  and  pen. 

It's  a  wise  child  that  knows  his  own  father,  and 
it's  a  wiser  paragraph  that  knows  its  own  author,  after 
it  has  flitted  from  Burlington  to  Boston  and  back, 
through  the  media  of  the  exchanges,  to  say  nothing 


VI  PREFACE. 

of  the  "outsides."  It  hns  long  been  the  writer's 
intention  to  present,  in  ii  popular  form,  a  compilatioa 
of  his  sketches  ;  and,  at  last,  here  they  are,  arranged 
like  a  table  cVIiote  dinner,  in  courses  ! 

The  bill  of  fare,  if  not  extensive  or  very  varied, 
offers,  il  is  to  be  hoped,  that  variety  of  contrast  that  a 
well-considered  repast  should  afford.  When  wearied 
of  the  soup  of  "  Sketches,"  the  reader,  if  not  already 
sated,  mav  find  a  mo'ie  substantial  course  in  our 
"Whims  ;"  and  by  way  of  an  entree  we  have  sand- 
wiched in  "  Information  and  Gossip,"  for  the  possible 
delectation  of  the  casual  reader.  The  dessert  es- 
pecially celebrates  the  classics  ;  and,  if  Homer  were 
alive  now,  aiul  running  for  foreign  minister,  like  the 
other  "  d — d  literary  fellars,"  as  Simon  would  put  it, 
we  feel  he  would  pledge  us  at  least  one  "  go  "  of  nec- 
tar on  our  fourth' course.  But,  after  all,  a  book  of 
humor  is  not  a  dinner.  Rather,  it  is  like  a  Japanese 
play,  to  be  consummated  only  at  many  leisure  sittings, 
not  surrounded  in  fifteen  minutes,  after  the  manner  of 
the  American  maw. 

We  guess  we'll  call  our  book  a  play,  and  don't — 
if  you  will  permit  us  to  make  a  suggestion,  for  we 
know  how  it  is  ourselves — don't  take  more  than  an 
act  a  day,  as  it  were.     Give  the  Simon  Pure  a  chance. 

B.  IIAWKEYE. 


CONTEXTS. 


SCEXES   FROM   REAL   LIFE. 

TAGS 

My  Givi^if*th.,r's  Cl^ck 13 

Tiiirty  Minutes  of  Agony 17 

Sitting  Bull's  Joke 28 

Another  Broken  Engagement 29 

The  Picnic  Man 34 

After  Election  Day 37 

A  Sunday  Afternoon  Institute 38 

The  Read  and  Unread  Leaves 47 

An  Object  of  Interest 51 

Spell  "  Cud  " 52 

Tit  for  Tat 54 

Raising  a  Church  Debt 55 

The  Ethics  of  Bung-holes 59 

The  Compositor  Fiend 60 

The  Lege.nd  of  the  Drummuh 62 

A  Legend  of  Araby 66 

What  are  we  Here  For  ? 69 

The  Boys  and  the  Apples 70 

Rules  for  Poultry  Novices 75 

Lines  to  a  Hen 78 

[vii] 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Getting  my  Hair  Trimmed SO 

Mr.  ]\Iarchemont's  Experience ^'^ 

Cleaning  House ^^ 

The  Chinese  Question S^ 

A  True  Fable ^^ 

Sticking  to  It ^1 

Fiat  Money ^^ 


ON  THE  RAIL.— THE  WHIMS  OF  TRAVEL. 

Rhymes  on  the  Wing 93 

Preaching  v.  Practice 94 

The  Start 95 

"  Rogers  and  I " 97 

A  Minnesota  Poet 103 

The  Traveling  '*  Sick  Man  " 104 

A  Nice  Dubuque  Man lOG 

The  Man  who  had  Letters  for  his  Dog 107 

A  Twilight  Idyl 112 

A  Curious  Stranger  113 

Archaeological  Wonder 117 

Stuffing  a  Stranger 118 

"  I  would  Say  You  Lied  " .122 

The  Relentless  Baggage-man 123 

^ons 125 

Railroading  Down  East 126 

The  Metric  System 1 29 

The  Troubles  of  the  Tall  Man 130 


CONTENTS.  IX 

PAGB 

What  is  Milk  ?  132 

Too  Late  for  a  Ticket 133 

Railroad  Sleepers 1 35 

A  Disappointed  Etymologist , 138 

Cards  v.  Croquet 130 

"  Why  Is  It  ?" 140 

The  Passing  of  the  Train  Boy 141 

Hamlet  142 

Lost  His  Pocket-book 143 

A  Base  Flatterer ,    147 

Beautiful  Snow  (a  new  and  revised  edition) 143 

Forebodings 150 

Threnody 151 

"  PollywoUa  Kowackwah  " 152 

The  Ventilation  Fiend 153 

Corn-color 154 

Eating  on  the  Fly 155 

A  New  Name  for  it 156 

Railway  Criticism 157 

Uses  of  Rope 159 

Squatter  Sovereignty IGO 

Two  Kinds  of  Sugar 1G4 

Envoi 105 

The  First  Button  Man 1C6 

Pa  and  the  Baby 1G7 

The  Quiet  of  the  Tomb 170 

When  He  Swore 171 

The  Champion  Dog 172 

Train  Manners 173 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

The  Zephyrs  of  Maine ISO 

The  Rishig  Generation 181 

The  Amenities  of  Travel 183 

Naming  the  Baby 184 

A  Sad  Case  of  Whooping  Cough 185 

Woman  Suffrage 193 

Invading  Missouri 193 

Political  Kenunciation 19G 

She  Thought  She  had  'Em 197 

The  Advertisedest  Road  in  the  South 198 

Precise  Lady  Teacher 199 

The  Romance  of  a  Sleeping-car 200 

Breaking  the  Tec 20-4 

Privileges  of  Literature 203 

Chiropodiau 211 

A  Slight  Misunderstanding 212 

A  Vegetarian  Problem 218 

A  Harrowing  Tale 219 

Shaving  Against  Time 223 

A  Feeling  Feat 229 

A  Nocturnal  Diary 230 

The  Shah  of  Persia's  Debts 236 

Two  Daring  Men 237 

A  Practical  Man 240 

A  Mysterious  Accident 2-46 

Science  v.  Impulse 249 

Missed  His  Count 05Q 


CONTEXTS.  XI 

INrOR]^IATIOX,    GOSSIP   AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

(In  Crumbs.) 

PAOB 

The  Story  of  Innach  Garden 2o  I 

The  Merry.  Merry  Springtime 25G 

Agricultural  Afflictions 259 

A  Blighted  Census  Taker 265 

Poking  Fun  at  the  Native 206 

Answers  to  Correspondents 207 

The  Trouble  with  Moody 272 

Berghizing  a  Cat 273 

The   Phonograph 274 

A  Remarkable  Cure 275 

Catching  the  Horse-car ^ 270 

Something  to  Boot 277 

A  Dire  Catastrophe 278 

A  Tribute  to  "  Culchaw  " 279 

Rules  of  Conduct 280 

Sound  and  Sense 282 

Romance  and  Reality 283 

The  Art  of  Dressing 284 

The  Climate  of  Peru 285 

The  Slave  of  Habit 285 

Why  Is  It  ? 286 

Didn't  Know  it  was  Loaded 2S0 

The  Snow-ball  Mystery 287 

Paper  Teeth 287 

Heaven  and  Earth 288 


XU  CONTENl^. 

PAGB 

Advantages  of  a  Free  Country 288 

"  When  Shall  We  Eat  ?" 288 

The  Reason  Why 289 

Two  Brothers 289 

The  Raven 289 

The  Phonograph,  in  German 290 

Baggy  Knees 2C0 

Her  Eyes 290 

LITTLE  CLASSICS. 

Historic  Remh^iscences  of  the  Eaelier  Time. 
r^r  PROSE  a:sd  teese. 

A  Day  at  Troy 291 

Nocturne 292 

Recreations  in  Thcban  Literature 294 

Too  Particular 296 

A  Grecian  Circular 297 

The  Skirmishing  Fund 298 

A  Miss,  but  a  Good  Line  Shot 299 

Recreations  in  Mythology 302 

Insurance  on  the  Tiber 305 

The  Odd  I  See 307 

Egyptian  Philosophy 309 

Studies  of  the  Antique 310 

Home  Life  of  the  Ancients 312 

Roman  Domestic  Life 313 

The  Pupils  of  Socrates 315 

Hector's  Last 317 


SCENES    FROM    REAL    LIFE. 


d' 


My  grandfather's  clock  was  too  high  for 
the  shelf, 

And  it  reached  forty  feet  below  the 
floor  ; 
And  he  used  to  take  a  linrhtnin;:c-rod  to 
wind  it  himself, 
While  he  stood  on   the   top   of    the 
door. 
It   ran  like    a  quarter  horse  long  years 
'ere  he  was  born  ; 
When  he  died  it  ran  faster  than  b& 
fore, 

13 


14        •  '•*    •  3i^ 'gR^XDF^TII^r' S    CL^CK. 

Adci  ev,  ery ;  ■  time-tbat-he-beard-the  tune, 
Tbe  old — man — swore. 

Chorus,  by  tbe  entire  congregation  : 

About  459,000  years  witbout  slumbering, 

Tick,  tock  ;    tick,  tock,  turn,  tum-tum  ;    turn,  tura- 

tum  ;  oora-pab,  oom-pab,  bra-a-a-a  ! 
"Whistling  and  roaring  and  sbrieking  and  thundering  ! 
Tick,  tock  ;  tick,  tock,  toot,  doot,  toot,  de   doot,  tra 

la,  la  ha  ha  ! 
Ah  !      Scree-ee-ee  !     Whoop !      Whoop  !      Wa-ba- 

ha-ha-ha-ba-a-a-a  ! 
It  went !     Faster  !  than-ever-it-went-before, 

When  tbe  old — man — died  ! 

Tbe  man  who  lived  down  at  tbe  corner  of  tbe  block, 
With  a  voice  like  a  broad  guage  bassoon  ; 

He  made  a  bass  solo  of  "  My  Grandfather's  Clock," 
And  be  never  sang  any  other  tune. 

He  sang  it  every  morning  and  be  sang  it  in  tbe  night. 
And  he  sang  it  while  the  congregation  cried  : 

But  bis  neck  ;  tie  ;  fitted-bis-neck-too  tight, 
On  the  day — be — died. 

Chorus,  by  people  who  whistle,  but  can't  sing,  with 
a  lingering,  suspicious  inflection  on  tbe  "  neck-tie  "  as 
though  circumstances  indicated  that  several  men  bad 
helped  the  musician  to  put  it  on  : 


:M^    Gn^XDF^Tn^pJs    CL^CK.  15 

Forty-nine  hours  a  day  without  slumbering, 

Toodle  de  doo,  too  de  doo,  toodle  de  doo  tooty  toot ! 

The  multitudinous  notes  of  the  crickets  outnumbering  ; 
Toot  !     Doot  !     Toot  !     Doot  !     Toot  !  ! 

But  his  neck  ;  tie  ;  wasn't-adjusted-right, 
On  the  day — he — died  ! 

And  the  handsome  young  man  who  sang  tenor  in  the 
choir, 

Was  also  addicted  to  the  tune  ; 
He  used  to  pitch  the  air  about  twenty  octaves  higher 

Than  the  key-note  of  the  man  in  the  moon. 
ITis  cracked  notes  pierced   through    the   azure   fields 
above. 

Till  Olympus  couldn't  sleep  if  it  tried  ; 
But  great  ;  Jove  ;  gave-one-of-his-bolts  a  shove. 

And  the  young — man — died  ! 

Choeus,  for  first  tenor  voices,  with  a  shivering  kind 
of  an  intonation  on  the  thunder,  indicative  of  the 
feelings  of  a  young  man  when  he  is  struck  by  light- 
ning.    Xow,  then,  all  together  I 

Up  to  high  C  without  stumbling, 

Squack,  squack  I  squack,  squack  ! 
Squack  without  any  quavering  or  straining  or  mum- 
bling, 

Squack,  squack  I  squack,  squack  ! 


16  M^   G%Tq^DF^TH^R'S   CLOCK. 

Squack-but-tbe-thun   ;    der  !     got-migbty-close-to-tbe 
gronnd, 
On  tbe  da-ay — be died  ! 

Tbere  were  forty  million  people  in  tbe  land  of  our 
birtb, 
Witb  voices  from  a  squeak  to  a  roar, 
And  they  warbled  tbat  tnne  through  the  ends  of  tbe 
earth, 
In  the  church,  in  the  car,  and  the  store. 
Till  the  old  man's  ghost  re-sought  the  glimpses  of  tbe 
moon. 
And  be  tore  at  bis  silver  flowing  bair, 
And  the  old  ;  man  !  wbenever-he-beard  tbat  tune, 
Would  cavort — and — swear  ! 

Chorus,  softly,  by  any  person  of  tbe  company  who 
knows  the  words,  with  old  man  obligato  : 

"Ninety  years  without  slumbering" — 

? »  ? f  t  f f  ?  t  f  t  f  t  t » 


His  life  seconds  numberin 


g- 


! I J I  I » I  II  I  !  ! ! ! ! 

*'But  it  stopped short" ! 


!  f  f  t  I  f 


! f I  t f  f f  f  ? 


THIRTY   MINUTES    OF   AGONY.  17 


THIRTY  MINUTES  OF  AGOXY. 

Yesterday  afternoon  Mr.  Jasper  Thumble- 
dirk,  who  is  forty-three  years  old  and  unmar- 
ried, dashed  into  our  sanctum  and  evolved  a 
remark,  the  intensity  of  which  fairly  made  our 
blood  curdle.  And  when  he  completed  the  re- 
mark, which  was  neither  very  long  nor  remark- 
ably complicated,  he  picked  up  a  dictionary, 
hurled  it  at  the  proof-reader  with  great  asperity, 
and  before  that  good-natured  and  greatly-abused 
angel  of  the  editorial  staff  could  recover  from 
his  emotion  and  load  his  umbrella  Mr.  Thum- 
bledirk  was  gone.  He  dashed  out  of  the  door, 
missed  the  stairway,  and  stej^ped  down  the 
elevator  well,  falling  a  distance  of  three  stories, 
but  he  was  too  mad  and  excited  to  get  hurt, 
and  we  heard  him  rushing  away  down  the  alley, 
yelling  and  swearing  till  he  was  out  of  sight 
and  hearing.  As  he  is  usually  a  very  severe 
man,  of  habitual  reserve,  very  particular  and 
guarded  in  his  language,  we  were  amazed  not 
only  at  his  actions,  but  his  words,  for  which  his 
excited  manner  afforded  not  the  slightest  ex- 


18  THIRTY   MIXUTES    OF   AGOXY. 

planation.  During  the  clay,  however,  we  be- 
came possessed  of  certain  facts  which  may  give 
the  reader  some  clue  to  the  causes  of  this  worthy 
and  respectable  citizen's  violent  and  disrespect- 
ful manner  and  language. 

It  appears  that  about  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon Mr.  Thumbledirk  dropped  in  at  the  Union 
depot,  to  ask  some  questions  relative  to  the 
arrival  and  departure  of  trains,  and  while  pass- 
ing through  the  ladies'  waiting-room,  he  was 
accosted  by  a  lady  acquaintance  who  was  going 
east  on  the  T.  P.  &  W.  at  half-past  two.  She 
wished  to  go  up  town  to  make  some  little  pur- 
chases, but  didn't  want  to  take  her  baby  out  in 
the  rain.  Would  Mr.  Thumbledirk  please  hold 
it  for  her  until  she  came  back  ?  She  wouldn't  be 
gone  more  than  ftve  minutes,  and  little  Ernest 
was  just  as  good  as  an  angel,  and  besides,  he 
was  sound  asleep. 

Mr.  Thumbledirk,  with  a  strange  flutter  of 
his  feelings,  lied,  and  said  he  would  be  only  too 
delighted.  Then  he  took  the  baby,  and  the 
ticket-agent,  who  has  two,  knew  by  the  manner 
in  which  the  man  took  the  baby,  and  looked 
anxiously  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other  to  see 
which  end  the  head  was  on,  that  he  had  never 


THIRTY  :mixutes  of  agoxy. 


19 


»«fi»i5Kr 


handled  a  liiiman  baby  before  in  all  his  life, 
and  promptly  closed  his  windows  to  shnt  out 
the  trouble  that  he  knew  was  on  the  eve  of  an 
erui)tion. 

Mr.  Thumbledirk  is  a  very  tall,  dignified 
man.  He  was  rather  annoyed,  as  the  mother 
disappeared  through 
the  door,  to  observe 
that  all  the  women  in 
the  waiting-room  were 
intentl}^ regarding  him 
with  various  expres- 
sions, curiosity  pre- 
dominating. He  sat 
down  and  bent  his 
arms  at  the  elbows 
until  they  resembled 
in  shape  two  letter 
Y's,  with  the  baby  ly- 
ing neck  and  heels  in 
the  angle  at  the  elbows,  and  he  looked,  and 
felt  that  he  looked,  like  the  hideous  pictures  of 
Moloch,  in  the  old  Sunday-school  books. 

Mr.  Thumbledirk  felt  keenly  that  he  was  an 
object  of  curiosity  and  illy -repressed  mirth  to 
the  women  around  him.     Now,  a  dignified  man 


A    TRYING    SITUATION. 


20  THIRTY   MINUTES   OF  AGONY. 

does  not  enjoy  being  a  langliing-stock  for  any- 
body, and  it  is  especially  humiliating  for  him 
to  feel  that  he  appears  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  ^ 
women.  This  feeling  is  intensified  when  the 
man  is  a  bachelor,  and  knows  he  is  a  little 
awkward  and  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of 
women,  anyhow,  So,  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
face  of  the  quiet  sleeping  infant,  he  made  an 
insane  effort  to  appear  perfectly  easy,  and,  to 
create  the  impression  that  he  was  an  old  mar- 
ried man  and  the  father  of  twenty-six  children, 
he  disengaged  one  arm,  and  chucked  the  baby 
under  the  chin. 

About  such  a  chuck  as  you  always  feel  like 
giving  a  boy  with  a  "putty  blower"  or  a  "  pea 
shooter."  It  knocked  the  little  rosebud  of  a 
mouth  shut  so  quick  and  close  the  baby  couldn't 
catch  its  breath  for  three  minutes,  and  Mr. 
Thumbledirk  thought,  with  a  strange,  terrible 
sinking  of  the  heart,  that  it  was  just  possible 
he  might  have  overdone  the  thing.  A  short 
young  woman  in  a  kilt  skirt  and  a  pretty  face, 
sitting  directly  opposite  him,  said,  "  Oh  !"  in  a 
mild  kind  of  a  shriek,  and  then  giggled ;  a  tall, 
thin  woman  in  a  black  bombazine  dress  and  a 
gray  shawl,  and  an  angular  woman  in  a  calico 


THIRTY   MINUTES   OF   AGONY.  21 

dress  and  a  sun-bonnet,  gasped,  "Why  ?"  in  a 
startled  duet ;  a  fat  \s'oinan  with  a  small  herd  of 
children  and  a  market-basket  shouted  "Well !" 
and  then  immediately  clapped  her  plump 
hands  over  her  mouth  as  though  the  exclama- 
tion had  been  startled  from  her,  and  a  tall, 
raw-boned  woman  who  wore  horn  spectacles 
and  talked  bass,  said  "The  poor  Iambi"  in 
such  sepulchral  tones  that  everybody  else 
laughed,  and  Mr.  Thumbledirk,  who  didu  t 
just  exactly  know  whether  she  meant  him  or 
the  baby,  blushed  scarlet,  and  felt  his  face  grow 
so  hot  he  could  smell  his  hair.  And  his  soul 
was  filled  with  such  gloomy  forebodings  that 
all  the  future  looked  dark  to  him. 

The  baby  opened  its  blue  eyes  wider  than 
any  man  who  never  owned  a  baby  would  have 
believed  it  i^ossible,  and  stared  at  Mr.  Thum- 
bledirk with  an  expression  of  alarm,  and  a 
general  lack  of  contidence,  that  boded  a  dis- 
tressing want  of  harmony  in  all  further  pro- 
ceedings. Mr.  Thumbledirk,  viewing  these 
signs  of  restlessness  with  inward  alarm,  con- 
ceived the  happy  idea  that  the  baby  needed  a 
change  of  iDosition.  So  he  stood  it  ux)on  its 
feet. 


22  THIRTY   MINUTES   OF   AGONY. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  any  mother  of  a 
family  that  by  the  execution  of  this  apparently 
very  simple  movement,  the  unhappy  man  had 
every  thread  of  that  baby's  clothes  under  its 
arms  and  around  its  neck  in  an  instant.  A 
general  but  suppressed  giggle  went  around  tlie 
room. 

Mr.  Thumbledirk  blushed,  redder  and  hotter 
than  ever,  and  the  astonished  baby,  after  one 
horrified  look  at  its  strange  guardian,  v/him- 
pered  uneasily. 

Mr.  Thumbledirk,  not  daring  to  risk  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice,  would  have  danced  the 
baby  up  and  down,  but  its  little  legs  bent  them- 
selves into  such  aiipalling  crescents  the  first 
time  he  let  the  cherub's  weight  upon  them, 
that  the  wretched  man  knew  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  tliat  he  had  forever  and  eternally  most 
hopelessly  "bowed"  them,  and  felt  that  he 
could  never  again  look  a  bow-legged  man  in 
the  face  without  a  spasm  of  remorse.  As  for 
meeting  the  father  of  this  beautiful  boy,  whose 
life  he  had  blighted  with  a  pair  of  crooked  legs 
— never,  he  would  face  death  itself  first.  And 
iu  coming  years,  whenever  he  met  this  boy 
waddling  to  school  on  a  pair  of  legs  like  ice- 


THIRTY   ^IINUTES   OF   AGONY.  23 

tongs,  be  would  gaze  upon  them  as  liis  own 
guilty  work,  and  would  tremble  lest  the  v/ratli 
of  the  avenging  gods  should  fall  upon  him. 

Alarmed  at  the  gloomy  shadows  which  these 
distressing  thoughts  cast  over  Mr.  Thumbledirk's 
face,  the  baby  drew  itself  up  into  a  knot  and 
wailed.  Mr.  Thumbledirk  balanced  it  carefully 
on  his  hands  and  dandled  it,  for  all  the  world 
as  he  would  "heft"'  a  watermelon.  Instantly 
the  baby  straightened  itself  out  with  such 
alarming  celerity  that  the  tortured  dry  nurse 
caught  it  by  the  heels  just  in  time  to  save  it 
from  falling  to  the  floor. 

''He'll  kill  that  child  yet,"  said  the  gloomy 
woman  who  talked  bass,  and  Mr.  Thumbledirk 
felt  the  blood  curdle  in  cold  waves  in  his  veins. 
By  this  time  the  baby  was  screaming  like  a 
calliope,  and  the  noise  added  inexpressibly  to 
Mr.  Thumbledirk' s  confusion  and  distress. 
He  would  have  trotted  the  baby  on  his  knee, 
but  the  attempt  occasioned  too  much  comment. 
The  fat  woman  ^vith  the  market-basket  said  : 

"Oh-h,  the  little  dear!" 

And  the  short,  pretty  woman  snapped  her 
eyes,  and  said  : 

"  Oh  h-h  I  how  cruel  I" 


24  THIRTY   MIjS'UTES   OF  AGOXY. 

And  the  woman  in  the  black  bombazine,  and 
the  woman  in  the  sun-bonnet  said  : 

^'  Oh-h-h  !  just  look  at  him  !" 

And  the  woman  who  tallved  bass  said,  in 
her  most  sepulchral  and  jpenetrating  accents  : 

"The  man's  a  fool." 

And  the  baby  itself,  utterly  ignoring  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Thumbledirk  was  laboring  in  its 
own  interests,  threw  all  the  obstruction  it  could 
in  the  way  of  further  proceedings  by  alter- 
nately^ straightening  itself  out  into  an  abnormal 
condition  of  such  appalling  rigidity,  that  Mr. 
Thumbledirk  was  obliged  to  hold  its  head 
tightly  in  one  hand  and  its  heels  in  the  other, 
and  then  suddenly  doubling  itself  up  into  so 
small  a  knot  that  the  ix)or  man  had  to  hold  his 
two  hands  close  together,  like  a  bowl,  and  hold 
the  baby  as  he  would  hold  a  pint  of  sand  ;  and 
these  transitions  from  the  one  extreme  to  the 
other  were  made  with  such  startling  rapidity 
and  appalling  suddenness,  that  Mr.  Tliumbledirk 
had  to  be  constantly  on  the  alert ;  and  his  arms 
ached  so,  and  he  exhibited  such  signs  of  fatigue 
and  distress  that  the  depot  policeman  looked  in 
to  say  to  hira  that  if  he  was  tired  out,  he  would 


THIRTY   MIXUTE3    OF   AGOXY.  25 

send  in  a  section  hand  or  the  steam  shovel  to 
give  him  a  spell. 

It  seemed  to  Mr.  Thumbledirk  that  he  never 
heard  so  much  noise  come  from  so  small  a  baby 
in  his  life.     The  more  he  turned  it  around  and 
tossed  it  about  the  more  its  cloak,  and  dress, 
and  skirts  and  things  became  entangled  around 
its  neck,  and  now  and  then  the  mass  of  drapery 
would  get  over  the  baby's  face  and  stifle   its 
cries  for  a  second,  but  the  noise  would  come 
out  stronger  than  ever  when  the  tossing  little 
hands  would  tear  away  the  obstruction.     And 
the  louder  the  baby  screamed  the  faster  the  vig- 
orous, fat  legs  flew,  kicking  in  every  direction, 
like  crazy  fly-wheels  with  the  rim  off.     Some- 
times Mr.  Thumbledirk  made  as  high  as  a  hun- 
dred and  eighty  grabs  a  minute  at  those  legs 
and  never  touched  one  of  them.     He  was  hot 
and  blind  and  wild  with  terror  and  confusion. 
Once  he  tried  to  sing  to  the  baby,  but  when  he 
quavered  out  a   "Hootchy,    pootchy,    puddin' 
and   pie,"    the    women    laughed,    all    but    the 
gloomy  woman  who  talked  bass— she  sniffled, 
and  he  stopped.     He  gave  the  baby  his  pearl- 
handled  knife,  and  the  innocent  threw  it  into 
the  stove.     He  gave  it  his  gold  watch,  and  it 


26  THIRTY   MINUTES   OF   AGONY. 

dashed  it  on  the  floor.     He  gave  it  his  emerald 
scarf-pin,  and  the  baby  put  it  into  its  mouth. 

The  pretty  woman  screamed. 

The  sad  woman  in  the  bombazine  shrieked. 

The  angular  woman  in  the  sun-bonnet  yelled, 
*'0h,  mercy  on  us  !" 

The  fat  woman  with  the  market-basket 
called  wildly  for  a  doctor. 

The  gloomy  woman  who  talked  bass  shouted 
hoarsely, 

''He's  killed  it!" 

And  Mr.  Thumbledirk  hooked  his  finger 
into  that  child's  mouth  and  choked  it  until 
its  face  was  purple  and  black,  trying  to  find 
that  x>in.  And  Mr.  Thumbledirk  couldn't  hear 
even  the  chattering  women.  It  beat  the  air 
with  its  clenched  fists,  and  thrashed  and  kicked 
with  its  fat  bare  legs,  and  wailed,  and  howled, 
and  choked,  and  screamed,  and  doubled  up  and 
straightened  out  until  Mr.  Thumbledirk,  steel- 
ing his  nerves  to  the  awiul  effort,  clasped  the 
screaming  baby  in  his  arms  and  rose  to  his 
feet. 

He  was  going  to  go  out  and  throw  himself 
and  the  baby  under  the  first  train  that  came 
along. 


THIRTY   MINUTES   OF   AGONY.  27 

The  baby's  mother  sprang  in  through  the 
door  like  an  angel  of  mercy. 

She  took  the  baby  in  her  arms  and  with  one 
slight  motion  of  one  hand  had  its  raiment 
straightened  oat  so  exquisitely  smooth  there 
wasn'  t  a  wrinkle  in  it. 

The  baby  lay  in  her  arms  as  placid,  quiet, 
flexible,  graceful  and  contented  as  a  dream  of 
Paradise. 

The  mother  thanked  Mr.  Thumbledirk  for 
the  agony  and  torture  he  had  endured  so  pa- 
tiently for  her — this  was  the  way  she  thanked 
him.  She  did  not  look  at  him.  She  looked 
straight  out  of  the  window  with  a  stony  glare, 
and  said,  in  tones  that  made  the  thermometer 
shiver : 

'*  Mr.  Thumbledirk  isn't  a  very  good  nurse, 
is  he,  baby  f 

All  the  women  smiled,  except  the  gloomy 
woman  who  talked  bass.  She  nodded  approv- 
ingly. 

The  baby  looked  up  into  Mr.  Thumbledirk' s 
face  and  laughed  aloud. 

What  Mr.  Thumbledirk  said  when  he  dashed 
in  at  the  sanctum  last  evening  was  this  : 

"By  the  avenging  daughters  of  Night,  the 


28  SITTING    bull's   JOKE. 

everlasting,  snake-haired  Erynnes,  the  terror- 
haunted  shades  never  knew  the  horrors  that 
haunt  the  soul  of  a  sensible  single  man  that 
tries  to  take  care  of  some  other  fool's  howling, 
squalling,  squirming  baby  1" 


SITTIXG  BULL'S  JOKE. 

Sitting  Bull  never  perpetrated  but  one 
joke.  That  was  one  day  last  autumn,  when  he 
sat  down  on  a  cluster  of  clover,  in  which  there 
lingered  the  bumble  bee  of  all  bumble  bees. 
The  petulant  insect  prodded  the  warrior  with  a 
sting  that  marked  one  hundred  and  ninety  de- 
grees in  the  coolest  x)lace,  and  with  a  mighty 
howl  the  chieftain  rose  up  in  the  air  and  felt 
around  for  his  tormentor.  ''  Now  is  the  winter 
of  our  discontent,-'  he  said,  holding  the  writh- 
ing bee  up  in  his  thumb  and  finger,  "  this  is  the 
Indian  s  hummer.*'  And  no  one  laughed  and 
no  one  said  anything,  nor  asked  him  to  say  it 
again  and  say  it  real  slow,  and  the  forest  mon- 
arch withdrew  his  card  from  the  paragraphers' 
association,  and  never  joked  again. 


ANOTHER  BROKEN  ENGAGEMENT.      29 


ANOTHER  BROKEN  ENGAGEMENT. 

Not  that  Mr.  Jasman  was  particularly  bash- 
ful, for  a  young  man.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
rather  prided  himself  on  his  natural,  unspoiled, 
inartificial  manner.  But  he  lacked  presence  of 
mind.  He  was  easy  and  free  in  his  manner  so 
long  as  everything  went  off  well,  but  any  little 
incident  out  of  the  ordinary  run  of  events  upset 
him,  and  left  him  helplessly  floundering  in  a 
slough  of  unutterable,  because  not  proper  to  be 
uttered,  thoughts  and  sentiments. 

Last  Sunday  afternoon  Mr.  Jasman  strolled 
out  to  enjoy  the  air,  and  for  the  further  pur- 
pose of  making  a  short  call  on  Miss  Whazzer- 
naim,  who  lives  out  on  Columbia  street.  The 
day  was  too  lovely  to  be  mocked  b}^  an  overcoat 
even  of  the  spring  variety,  and  Mr.  Jasman,  as 
he  sauntered  up  Third  street,  looked  perfectly 
lovely  in  a  jjair  of  lean  lilac  pants,  short  coat 
and  helmet  hat.  He  also  wore,  as  is  the  custom 
with  our  best  young  men,  a  large  yellow  cane, 
weighing  seven  pounds,  which  tended  to  give 
him  the  appearance  of  a  commercial  traveler 
for  a  wood- yard,  selling  cord- wood  by  samx)le. 


30  ANOTHER  BPwOKEN   ENGAGEMENT. 

He  found  the  family  all  at  home.  They 
were  sitting  on  the  front  stoop,  taking  the  air, 
just  for  the  novelty  of  sitting  out-doors  in  De- 
cember. The  old  gentleman  soon  blew  his  hat 
off  with  a  sneeze  that  threatened  to  dislocate  his 
neck,  and  went  in  ;  the  old  lady,  in  an  effort 
that  was  just  like  it,  went  off  into  a  paroxysm 
that  sounded  like  the  name  of  a  Russian  general 
in  a  fit,  and  she  went  in,  declaring  to  goodness 
that  she  never,  in  all  her  born  days,  did.  And 
then  Mr.  Jasman  went  up  and  sat  down  on  the 
top  stair,  right  at  Miss  AYhazzernaim's  lovely 
number  IH  feet. 

''Be  careful  where  you  sit,  Mr.  Jasman," 
she  said,  in  tones  whose  liquid  sweetness  ran 
into  Mr.  Jasman' s  ears  and  penetrated  every 
fiber  of  his  being  like  snow  water  gliding  into  a 
last  summer  shoe.  But  his  heart  sank  as  her 
remark  came  to  a  close.  Like  the  chicken  the 
Irishman  swallowed,  she  had  spoken  too  late. 
"The  children,"  she  said,  "had  been  eating 
pears,  and  had  scattered  bits  of  the  frait  around 
everywhere." 

Mr.  Jasman,  as  he  sank  upon  the  step,  had 
been  made  aware  that  he  sat  down  on  some- 
thing.   Something  his  heart  and  the  sense  of  feel- 


ANOTHER  BROKEX  ENGAGEMENT.      31 

ing  told  him  was  a  soft,  mellow  pear.  He  felt  it 
yielding  to  the  j)ressure  of  his  weight.  He  felt 
it  spread  out  on  the  cold  step  until  it  was  as  big 
as  half  a  water-melon.  His  terrors  even  mag- 
nified and  distorted  the  dreadful  reality.  He 
knew  that  if  he  rose  to  his  feet  he  would  pre- 
sent the  horrible  spectacle  of  a  man  who  had 
sat  down  upon  a  mustard  plaster.  He  felt 
dreadfully.  He  could  not  speak.  He  dared 
not  rise  to  his  feet.  He  thought  dismally  of  the 
short  coat,  that  looked  so  nobby,  but  was  such 
a  hollow  mockery  at  a  time  like  this  ;  a  coat 
that  shone  resplendent  upon  dress  parade,  but 
was  an  abhorrent,  disgraceful  "no  account*' 
for  active  service.  And  he  inwardly  gnashed 
his  teeth,  and  smote  upon  his  breast,  and  de- 
nounced himself  for  a  vain,  conceited,  primordial 
fool,  for  coming  away  without  his  overcoat. 
And  all  the  time  Miss  Whazzernaim  kept  cliat- 
tering  away  to  him,  trying  to  make  him  talk 
and  wondering  what  made  him  so  stupid  and 
shy. 

The  fact  is,  he  was  trying  to  die,  but 
couldn't. 

She  spoke  of  the  beautiful  sunset  that  was 
just   coming  on.     He  spake  never  a  word,  but 


32         AXOxnER  BROKEx  exgage:\iext. 

dismally  wondered  what  she  would  say  if  she 
.  should  see  the  picture  of  a  winter  sunset,  exe- 
cuted in  California  pear  on  light  cassimere. 
lie  writhed  in  mental  agony,  and  he  felt  the 
liendish  j^ear  spread  out  wider  and  thinner  than 
ever.  Miss  Whazzernaim  said  it  was  growing 
colder. 

He  silently  thought  if  she  wanted  to  feel 
something  so  cold  that  it  could  stand  at  an 
iceberg  and  warm  its  hands,  she  could  lay  her 
hand  at  his  heart.  She  said  she  was  actually 
shivering.  And  he  thought  if  she  knew  what  a 
wild  tremor  of  agitatioil  his  quivering  nerves 
were  in,  she  would  never  think  of  shivering 
again.  She  said  if  they  were  going  to  sit  out 
there  any — at-chew !  longer,  she  must  realh' — • 
at-chee  !  go  in  and  get  a  wrap. 

Then  he  found  voice.  He  rose,  and  facing 
her,  while  tears  filled  his  eyes  and  choked  his 
utterances  as  he  thought  what  a  demomlized 
facade  his  rear  elevation  must  present  to  the 
passers-by  in  the  street,  shouted  : 

"I'd  like  to  rap  the  icy-hearted  son  of  a  gos- 
ling that  left  that  pear  on  the  step,  over  the 
head  with  a  club,  dad  burn  the " 


She  rose  like  a  creature  of  marble,  and  gazed 


A^^OT^ER  BROKEN    EXGAGE:iIE:;T. 


H3 


CRUSKED     HOrES. 


at  him  in  indignant,  voiceless  rebuke.  He  backed 
slowly  down  the  stairs.  _^ 
She  turned,  and  with  ^^y 
one  glance  of  indignant, 
unforgiving  scorn,  went 
into  the  house.  With 
a  superhuman  effort  he 
conquered  his  fears, 
and  looked  at  the  step 
to  gather  a  faint  idea  of 
the  counterpart  picture 
which  he  had  lithographed  upon  his  raiment, 
from  the  cold  freestone.  His  fearful  glance 
fell  upon  an  'innocent,  flattened,  but  perfectly- 
innocuous  rubber  doll,  the  property  of  the 
youngest  Whazzernaim. 

He  looked  at  the  cold,  forbidden  door  of  the 
mansion.  He  thought  of  the  unforgiving  glance 
that  had  betokened  his  dismissal.  He  thought 
of  the  suffering  he  had  so  innocently  and  un- 
justly undergone.  He  thought  a  thousand 
things  that  he  couldn't  be  hired  to  say,  and  the 
sun  w^ent  down  behind  the  isomorphous  furnace 
on  West  Hill,  and  left  the  world  and  Mr.  Jas- 
man's  heart  in  starless  gloom. 

The  match  is  off. 

3 


34  THE    PICNIC    MAN. 

Jasman  now  spends  his  days  at  Sunday- 
school  picnics,  which  he  is  wont  to  immortalize 
in  verse : — 

THE    PICNIC     MAN. 

Under  the  shell-bark  hickory  tree 

The  picnic  man  he  stands  ; 
A  woeful-looking  man  is  he, 

With  bruised  and  grimy  hands  ; 
And  the  soil  that  sticks  to  his  trouser's  knee, 

Is  the  soil  of  several  lands. 

His  hair  is  mussed,  his  hat  is  torn, 
His  clothes  are  like  the  ground  ; 

He  wishes  he  had  ne'er  been  born, 
Or  being  born,  ne'er  found. 

He  glares  and  scowls  in  wrathful  scorn 
As  oft  he  looks  around. 

At  early  morn,  in  suit  of  white, 

He  sought  the  picnic  park  ; 
His  face  was  clean,  his  heart  was  light. 

His  loud  song  mocked  the  lark. 
But  now,  although  the  day  is  bright, 

His  world,  alas,  is  dark  ! 


In  joyous  mood,  at  early  morn, 
He  sat  upon  the  stump. 


THE    PICNIC    MAN. 


35 


But  soon,  as  though  upon  a  thorn 
He  sat,  with  mighty  jump 

He  leaped  aloft,  and  all  forlorn 
In  haste  he  did  erump. 


TRIALS   OF   A   PICNIC   MAN. 


For  lo,  in  hordes,  the  big  black  ants, 

With  nippers  long  and  slim, 
Went  swiftly  crawling  up  his  pants, 

And  made  it  warm  for  him  ; 
And  through  the  woods  they  make  him  dance. 

With  gasp,  and  groan,  and  vim. 


36  THE    TlC^ilC    MAN. 

And  when  the  rustic  feast  is  spread. 

And  she  is  sitting  by, 
His  wild  wood  garland  on  her  head. 

The  love-light  in  her  eye, 
He woe,  oh  woe  !  would  he  were  dead 

Sits  in  the  custard  pie. 

And  now  they  send  him  up  the  tree 

To  fix  the  picnic  swing, 
And  up  the  shell-bark's  scraggy  side. 

They  laugh  to  see  him  cling  : 
They  cannot  hear  the  words  he  cried, 

"  Dad  fetch  !  dog  gone  !  dad  bing  1*' 

And  now  he  wisheth  he  were  down. 

And  yet  he  cannot  see 
Just  how  the  giggle,  stare  and  frown 

Escaped  by  him  may  be  ; 
He  knows  he  cannot  scramble  down 

With  his  back  against  the  tree. 

Sobbing,  and  sidling,  and  wailing. 

Homeward  alone  he  goes  ; 
Clay,  pie,  and  grass-stains  on  his  pants, 

More  and  more  plainly  shows  ; 
And  he  vows  that  to  any  more  picnics. 

He  never  will  go,  he  knows. 


AFTER  ELECTION   DAY.  37 

But  the  morrow  comes,  and  its  rising  sun, 

Brings  balm  to  his  tattered  breeks, 
He  thinks,  after  all,  he  had  lots  of  fun, 

And  hopefully,  gayly  he  speaks. 
And  he  goes  to  picnics,  one  by  one, 

Kine  times  in  the  next  five  weeks. 


AFTER  ELECTION  DAY. 

It  is  absolutely  mournful  to  notice  how  full 
of  strangers  the  city  has  been  ever  since  elec- 
tion. We  know  a  man  who  six  weeks  ago 
couldn't  walk  across  the  street  without  stop- 
ping to  shake  hands  with  eighty-five  men  whom 
he  had  known  ever  since  they  were  boys,  who 
now  walks  from  his  home  to  the  post-office,  dis- 
tance a  mile  and  a  half,  and  never  takes  his 
hands  out  of  his  pockets  the  whole  distance. 
(He  was  left  by  about  2,842  minority.) 


38  A   SUNDAY   ArTERNOO:S"    INSTITUTE. 


A  SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  INSTITUTE. 

I  WAS  pleased  when  my  brother  Harold  and 
his  wife  asked  me  to  amuse  their  little  daughter 
Beth  one  Sunday  afternoon.  I  loved  my  bright, 
restless,  inquisitive,  impetuous  little  niece  most 
devotedly.  I  w^as  glad  to  have  her  a  whole  af- 
ternoon to  myself.  I  w^as  delighted  at  the  op- 
portunity of  putting  into  practice  my  untried 
but  perfect  theories  in  regard  to  the  training  of 
children.  I  had  great  confidence  in  my  ability 
to  entertain  children  ;  I  considered  myself  quite 
an  excellent  story-teller  ;  I  had  often  heard  my 
brother's  wife  say  that  you  might  as  well  try  to 
keep  a  wild  colt  quiet  and  attentive,  and  sensible 
of  the  reverence  due  sacred  things,  as  Beth,  but 
then  I  never  had  any  too  much  confidence  in 
her  method  of  managing  children.  And  as  of- 
ten as  I  maintained  that  I  could  make  a  good 
model  child  of  Beth,  I  wondered  what  my 
brother  Harold  married  my  sister-in-law  for. 

When  Beth  and  I  were  left  alone  in   the 
house,  I  called  the  child  to  me  and  said  : 

*'Now,    Beth,    this    is    the    Sabbath    day, 
and " 


A   SUNDAY   AFTEENOON    INSTITUTE.  39 

''  How  d'you  know  it  is  f '  she  asked,  drop- 
ping the  question  into  my  opening  sentence  like 
a  plummet.  I  was  first  annoyed,  then  I  was  puz- 
zled, and  finally  I  was  completely  nonplussed. 
How  did  I  know,  to  be  sure  ?  I  thought  of  all 
the  tough  old  theological  dissensions  on  this  very 
point,  and  for  a  moment  I  was  dumb.  Then, 
like  many  other  great  people,  I  quietly  ignored 
the  question  I  could  not  answer,  and  went  on  : 

"  It  is  wrong  to  play  to-day,  Beth " 

*'  Wrong  to  x>lay  what  f  she  demanded. 

"Anything,"  I  said. 

"'Tain't  wrong  to  play  Sunday-school,"  pro- 
tested this  terrible  logician,  and  I  began  to  wish 
somebody  was  near  that  could  help  me.  I  pur- 
sued after  Beth,  who  had 
made  a  little  diversion  by 
breaking  away  from  me 
and  chasing  the  dog 
around  the  front  yard.  I 
whipped    the     dog,    and 

mildly  reproved  Beth,    who  looked  archly  up 
into  my  face,  and  said  : 

"Didn't  you  wisht'at  Carlo  was  me  when 
you  was  whippin'  him,  Aunt  Dora  ?" 

I  couldn't  tell  the  child  an  untruth,  so  I 


40  A   SUNDAY   AFTERN'OOX    INSTITUTE. 

didn't  say  anything.  But  I  got  her  into  my 
lap,  and  before  she  had  time  to  slide  down,  I 
said  if  she  would  be  a  real  good  girl  and  keep 
quiet,  I  would  tell  her  a  beautiful  story,  the 
tender  story  of  Joseph. 

^'  Josejjh  who  '^"  she  asked. 

I  explained,  as  well  as  I  could,  why  he  had 
no  other  name,  and  Beth  sighed  and  said : 

"Well,  dat's  funny." 

*' Joseph,"  I  said,  "was  the  son  of  a  good 
old  man,  named  Jacob " 

"I  knows  him,"  shouted  Beth,  "he  saw3 
our  wood,  an'  he's  dot  a  wooden  leg  !" 

I  endeavored  to  explain  that  this  was  quite 
another  Jacob,  but  Beth  was  incredulous. 

"What  was  his  last  name  ?"  she  demanded  ; 
and  again  I  was  hopelessly  involved. 

"Well,"  she  declared  at  last,  with  an  ex- 
pression that  settled  the  controversy,  "dat's  ze 
same  man.  Our  Jacob,  he  ain't  dot  no  ozzer 
name,  either  ;  des  Jacob,  old  Jacob." 

"This  good  old  man,"  I  resumed,  "had 
twelve  sons." 

"  Any  little  dirls  ?" 

"  Only  one." 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  Beth,  in  a  tone  of  good 


A   SUNDAY   AFTERNOON'    INSTIXrXE.  41 

contempt,  "I  dess  she  was  miglit,v  sorrv  wiz 
SQch  a  houseful  of  boys  an'  no  little  sister." 

''Well,"  I  continued,  ''Jacob  loved  this  son 
very  much " 

"  How  much  r* 

''  Oh,  ever  so  much  ;  more  than  he  could  tell." 

''Ten  hundred  thousand  bushels  ?" 

"Yes,  and  more  than  that.  He  bought  him 
a  new  coat " 

"May  Crawford's  dot  a  new  dress,"  Beth 
shouted,  '"dray  an'  blue,  an'  pearl  buttons  on 
it,  an  a  new  parasol,  an'  I'm  doin'  to  have 
some  new  button  shoes  as  twick  as  I  can  kick 
zese  ones  out." 

And  the  young  lady  held  up  a  foot  for  my 
inspection,  the  appearance  of  which  indicated 
that  the  requisition  for  the  new  shoes  would 
be  sent  in  after  one  more  race  with  the  dog. 

''  His  father  bought  him  a  new  coat,  a  beau- 
tiful coat  of  many  colors " 

"Oh,  ho  !"  shrieked  Beth,  "dest  like  a  bed 
quilt." 

"And  Joseph  was  very  proud  of  this  pretty 
coat " 

"Huh  I  I  bet  you  the  boys  frowed  stones 
an'  hollered  at  him  if  he  wored  it  to  school  1'^ 


42  A   SUNDAY   AFTERXOOX    INSTITUTE. 

''But  his  brothers,  all  his  older  brothers, 
who " 

"  Did  he  wear  it  to  school,  Aunt  Dora  ?"         f 

I  said  no,  I  didn'  t  think  he  did. 

'^I  dess  he  was  afraid,"  she  said,  "an'  kept 
it  for  a  Sunday  coat.  Did  he  wear  it  to  Sunday- 
school?" 

I  tried  to  explain  the  non-existence  of  Sun- 
day-schools in  those  days. 

"Den  he  was  a  heathen,"  she  said  in  a  sat- 
isfied tone. 

"  No,  Joseph  wasn't  a  heathen." 

"Den  he  was  a  bad  boy." 

"No,  indeed  ;  Joseph  was  a  good  boy " 

"Den  why  didn't  he  go  to  Sunday-school?" 

I  got  over  this  stumbling-block  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  proceeded : 

"  But  all  his  brothers  hated  him  because  his 
father  loved  him  the  best  and " 

"I  'spect  he  always  dot  the  biggest  piece  of 
pie,"  my  niece  said,  musingly. 

"  And  so  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him,  be- 
cause  ' ' 

"Den  why  didn't  zey  send  him  out  in  de 
kitchen  to  talk  wiz  Jenny?  Dat's  what  my 
mamma  does." 


A   SUNDAY   AFTERNOON    INSTITUTE.  43 

"  And  they  hated  him  all  the  more  because 
one  night,  Joseph  had  a  dream '' 

"Oo-oo!  I  dreamed  dat  ze  big  Bible  on  ze 
parlor  table  had  live  long  legs  and  a  big  mouf, 
full  of  sharp  teeth,  and  it  climbed  onto  my  bed 
an'  drowled  at  me  'cause  I  bit  ze  wax  apple  an' 
tied  gran' pa's  wig  onto  Carlo's  head  last  Sun- 
day !  Oh,  I  was  so  scared  an'  I  hollered  an' 
mamma  said  she  dessed  I  had  ze  nightmare." 

After  the  narration  of  this  thrilling  appari- 
tion, with  its  direct  interpretation  and  moral 
application,  Joseph's  dream  appeared  a  very 
poor,  commonplace,  far-fetched  sort  of  a  vision, 
and  my  audience  lijstened  to  it  in  contemptuous 
silence. 

*'  One  day  Joseph's  father  sent  him  away  to 
see  how  his  brothers  were  getting  along " 

"Why  didn  t  he  write  'em  a  letter  T' 

"And  when  they  saw  Joseph  coming  they 
said " 

"  Did  he  ride  in  ze  cars  1" 

"No,  he  walked.  And  when  his  brothers 
saw  him  coming " 

"  I  dess  they  fought  he  was  a  tramp.  I  bet 
you  Carlo  would  have  bited  his  legs  if  he'd 
been  zere." 


44  A    SUNDAY    AFTEKNOOX    INSTITUTE. 

*'No,  they  knew  who  he  was,  but  they  were 
bad,  cruel,  wicked  men,  and  they  took  poor 
Joseph,  who  was  so  good,  and  who  loved  them 
all  so  well " 

"  I  see  a  boy  climbin'  our  fence  ;  I  dess  he's 
goin'  to  steal  our  ajjples.  Let's  go  sick  Carlo 
on  him." 

''Poor  Joseph,  who  was  only  a  boy,  just  a 
little  boy,  who  never  did  any  one  any  harm  ; 
these  great  rough  men  seized  him  with  lierce 
looks  and  angry  words,  and  they  were  going  to 
kill  the  frightened,  helpless  little  youth,  who 
cried  and  begged  them  so  piteously  not  to  hurt 
him  ;  going  to  kill  their  own  little  brother " 

"  j^ellie  Taylor  has  a  little  brother  Jim,  an' . 
she  says  she  wishes  somebody  would  kill  him 
when  he  tears  off  her  dolFs  legs  an'  frows  her 
kitten  in  ze  cistern." 

"But  Joseph's  oldest  brother  pitied  the 
little  boy  when  he  cried " 

"  I  dess  he  wanted  some  cake  ;  I  cry  when  I 
want  cake,  an'  mamma  dives  me  some." 

"And  so  he  wouldn't  let  them  kill  him,  but 
they  found  a  pit " 

"I  like  peach  pits,"  Beth  shouted  raptur- 


A   SUNDAY    AFTERNOON    INSTITUTE.  45 

ously,  "an'  I  know  where  I  can  find  a  great  lot 
of  'em  now.     Come  along  !" 

^'No,  let's  finish  the  story  first.  These  bad 
men  pat  Joseph  into  the  pit " 

"Why— Aunt— Dora!  what  is  you  talkin' 
about?" 

"About  these  cruel  men  who  put  Joseph 
into  the  pit " 

"I  dess  you  mean  zay  put  ze  pit  into 
Joseph." 

I  explained  the  nature  of  the  pit  into  which 
Joseph  was  lowered,  and  went  on. 

"So  there  the  poor  little  boy  was,  all  alone 
in  this  deep,  dark  hole " 

"  Why  didn't  he  climb  out  f 

"  Because  he  couldn't.  The  sides  of  the  pit 
were  rough,  and  it  was  very  deep,  deep  as  a 
well " 

"  Ding-dong-dell,  cat's  in  'e  well  ;  oh  auntie, 
I  know  a  nice  story,  about  a  boy  that  felled 
into  a  cistern  and  climbed  out  on  a  ladder." 

"  Poor  Joseph  was  sitting  in  this  pit " 

"Did  he  have  a  chair  ?" 

"No,   he  was  sitting  on  the  ground,   wish- 


I  wish  I  was  a  bumble  bee  an'  could  stand 


46  A   SUNDAY   AFTERNOON    INSTITUTE. 

on  my  head  like  a  boy,  an'  have  all  ze  honey  I 
^  could  eat." 
'       ''But  while  Joseph  was  in   the  dark  pit, 

frightened  and  crying,  and  all  alone " 

"  I  bet  he  was  aftraid  of  ghosts  !" 
''  While  he  was  wondering  if  his  cruel  broth- 
ers were  going  to  leave  him  in  the  dark  pit, 
some  merchants  came  along  and  Joseph's  broth- 
ers took  him  up  out  of  the  pit  and  sold  him  for 
a  slave.  Just  think  of  it.  Sold  their  little 
brother  to  be  a  slave  in  a  country  away  off  from 
his  home,  where  he  would  have  to  work  hard 
and  where  his  cruel  master  would  beat  him  ; 

where ' ' 

"  What  did  zey  get  for  him,  Aunt  Dora  ?" 
''Twenty   pieces   of   silver,"    I  said,    "and 


"  Hump,"  said  Beth,  "  dat  was  pitty  cheap, 
but,"  she  added,  musingly,  "I  spec'  it  w^as  all 
that  he  was  worth." 

Beth  has  grown  to  be  a  woman  now,  and  to 
some  purpose,  say  the  Burlington  chronicles. 
Some  native  bard  has  immortalized  her  as  fol- 
lows : — 


THE    READ   AXD    UNREAD    LEAVES. 


47 


THE   READ   AXD    UNREAD   LEAVES. 

T  was  a  man  of  Burlington, 
Full    learned    and    wise 
was  he  ; 
Full    oft    he    read    in    the 
magazines 
And  the  encyclopedias. 
And  often  times  when  the 
;  day  was  done, 

He'd    hasten    him   home 
from  the  store, 
And  over  his  volumes,  one 
by  one. 

He'd  ponder,  and  study,  and  snore. 
When  the  nights  grew  long  as  the  year  wore  on, 
He'd  study  and  ponder  the  more. 


One  night  in  sere  October, 

He  hastened  to  his  den, 
And  ye  book  he  read  to  annotate, 

He  seized  his  ready  pen, 
But  his  good  wife  cried  as  ye  book  she  spied, 

"  Now  hearken  to  me,  good  liege. 
An'  thou  open  that  book,  if  I'm  not  mistook, 

Thou'lt  be  in  a  state  of  siege." 


48  THE   EEAD   AND   UNREAD   LEAVES. 

Then  q  lickly  spoke  the  master, 

"  Woman,  thy  wits  are  daft, 
This  is  no  book  of  idle  tales, 

Wh'.reat  ye  have  weepit  and  laughed  ; 
Never   Jiis  tome  ye  have  looked  into, 

Th<v  I  of  the  flighty  head. 
The  '  Extinct  Mammalian  Fauna  of 

Df  .'.Ota,'  thou  ne'er  hast  read." 
Anr>  his  lips  curled  scornfully  as  this 

Undeniable  thing  he  said, 
Vhich  he  ne'er  had  spoken  if  he  had  been 

Less  bookish,  and  better  bred. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  thou  man  of  brains," 

And  in  mocking  tones  spake  she, 
*'  It's  little  I  reck  of  the  books  that  load 

The  shelves  of  your  librarie  ; 
But  this  I  trow,  that  within  that  book 

Of  which  I  have  heard  you  speak, 
I  have  more  red  leaves  in  an  hour  this  morn. 

Than  ye  have  read  leaves  in  a  week." 
And  she  folded  her  hands  and  looked  at  her  man, 

In  a  manner  exceedingly  meek, 
And  she  had  her  own  way,  in  her  womanly  sway, 

Though  she  knew  neither  Latin  nor  (Treek. 

Back  on  the  shelf  he  laid  it. 
The  book  he  had  taken  down  : 


THE   READ   AND    UXREAD   LEAVES.  49 

And  a  wry  grimace  that  wrinkled  his  face 

Chased  off  the  gathering  frown. 
"  This  book,"  he  said,  "  I  calculate, 

Is  safe,  among  my  legions  ;" 
And  he  laid  his  hand  on  "  ^fan  and  Xat- 

Ure,  in  the  Arctic  Regions," 
But  his  good  wife  shrieked  as  though  she  were 

Chased  by  the  hostile  Fijans. 

He  sighed,  and  took  down  "  Life  and  Death 

In  the  Tropics,"  by  Commodore  Staples  ; 
But  she  stayed  his  hand,  "  It's  full,"  quoth  she, 

"Of  gold  and  crimson  maples." 
"This  I  will  read,"  he  said,  and  took 

Down  "  Emory's  Compendium," 
But  she  spoke,  "  I  filled  that  little  book, 

With  rhus  toxicodendron." 
And  she  blushed,  for  her  Latin  accent  was 

A  subject  she  was  tender  on. 

"  Then  I  will  con,"  he  muttered. 

The  "  Institutes  of  Coke  ;" 
But  from  its  pages  fluttered. 

Bright  leaves  of  the  poison  oak. 
Then  he  said,  "  I  will  cram  on  the  Zodiac," 

And  he  opened  the  book  at  "  Libra," 
And  the  floor  was  strewn  with  the  yellow  leaves 

Of  the  Qommou  juglans  nigra. 
4 


60  THE   READ    AND   UNREAD   LEAVES. 

Pie  frowned  and  scowled,  that  book-worra, 

As  he  opened  the  "  Mill  on  the  Floss," 
And  over  his  lap  and  into  his  sleeves 

Fell  three  or  four  kinds  of  moss. 
Three  or  four  volumes  of  Dickens, 

And  every  page  of  Burns, 
Were  peopled  with  tinted  boxberry  leaves, 

And  graceful  fingers  of  ferns  ; 
Into  whatever  book  he  may  chance  to  look. 

New  botany  be  discerns. 

"Now  heaven  have  mercy,"  he  cried  at  last. 

When  he  could  find  voice  to  speak, 
"Is  there  aught  on  my  shelves  that  I  yet  may  read, 

In  my  volumes  of  classic  Greek  ?" 
But  his  good  wife  said,  as  she  shook  her  head, 

And  answered,  in  accents  meek, 
"  The  leaves  must  have  rest  until  they  be  pressed. 

Which  will  be  about  Christmas  week." 

Then  up  arose  the  good  man, 

And  stifled  his  rising  groans  ; 
He  strove  to  smile,  and  once  in  a  while 

He  laughed  in  mocking  tones. 
And  he  buried  himself  in  the  newspaper, 

And  he  read  of  murders  dire  ; 
Of  factories  stopped,  of  stocks  that  dropped, 

Of  losses  by  storm  and  fire  j 


AX   OBJFXT   OF   INTEREST.  '51 

How  banks  were  robbed  ;  how  people  were  drowned, 

How  men  from  trouble  were  mad, 
How  some  men  lied,  bow  women  cried. 

And  much  more  that  was  awful  and  sad, 
TjU  it  turned  his  head,  and  the  man,  it  is  said, 

Became  irreclaimably  bad. 

MORAL. 

The  moral  is  obvious. 


AN  OBJECT  OF  IXTEREST. 

^'Have  you  any  objects  of  interest  in  the 
vicinity?''  the  tourist  asked  the  Burlington 
man.  "I  have,  I  have!"  eagerly  replied  the 
other,  ''but  I  can't  get  at  it  to  show  it  you. 
It's  a  ninety  days'  note,  and  it's  down  in  the 
bank  now,  drawing  interest  like  a  horse  race 
or  a  mustard  plaster."  The  traveler  smiled 
as  though  an  angel  had  kissed  him.  But  it 
hadnH. 


52  SPELL 


SPELL  "CUD." 

The  other  day  the  office  boy  came  up  into 
The  Hawkey e  sanctum  with  an  expression  of 
grave  concern  on  his  face.  He  gazed  thought- 
fully around  the  room  for  a  moment  and  then 
asked : 

"  How  do  you  spell  '  cud  V  " 

"What  kind  of  cud?"  somebody  asked,  in 
a  careless,  uninterested  manner. 

"  Why,"  the  boy  replied,  "  the  kind  that  a 
cow  chews.     Cud  ;  how  do  you  spell  it  V 

The  city  editor  looked  up,  paused,  and 
glancing  anxiously  over  toward  the  managing 
editor, 

*'That  isn't  local,  is  it,  Mr.  Waite?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  city  man,  af- 
ter a  little  hesitation,  rem.arked  that  he  had 
never  seen  the  word  in  print,  but  he  believed  it 
was  spelled  "cudd." 

A  long  silence  ensued,  and  the  managing  ed- 
itor, feeling  that  the  question  had  not  been  an- 
swered to  the  general  satisfaction,  and  feeling 
that  all  eyes  were  upon  him,  said  that  he  believed 


53 


it  was  generally  mispronounced,  and  that  he  be- 
lieved that  the  proper  orthography  was  •'  cood.'' 

The  congregation  then  looked  toward  the 
proof-reader,  who  said  he  was  quite  conhdent 
that  it  was  spelled  "  gwud.'' 

The  manager  was  summoned  from  the  count- 
ing-room, and  said  he  was  of  the  opinion  that 
the  word  was  of  Latin  derivation  and  was 
spelled  "  cuid." 

A  telegram  was  sent  to  the  funny  man,  who 
was  up  in  Beloit,  Wisconsin,  but  he  thinly 
vailed  his  awful  ignorance  by  replying  that 
*'you  didn't  spell  it  at  all  ;  you  chewed  it." 

The  foreman  was  sent  for,  and  on  his  arrival 
in  the  cc unci" -chamber,  he  said  x):omptly  that 
it  was  spelled  ''culd." 

In  answer  to  the  telegram  sent  to  him,  the 
editor-in-chief  replied  from  the  capital  that  it 
was  spelled  with  a  lower-case  c. 

The  pressman  came  up  in  response  to  a  sub- 
poena, and  said  that  his  father  kept  a  stock 
farm,  and  he  knew  you  spelled  it  '*  kud.'' 

The  investigation  closed  with  the  testimony 
of  this  last  witness,  and  the  office  boy  went 
down  stairs  and  resumed  the  duties  of  his  hon- 
orable and  responsible  office. 


54  TIT    FOR    TAT. 

But  he  couldn't  clearly  make  out  whether  he 
had  or  had  not  learned  how  to  spell  "  cud." 


TIT  FOR  TAT. 


*'  Does  that  hurt  ?"  kindly  asked  the  dentist, 
holding  the  young  man's  head  back,  and  jab- 
bing a  steel  probe  with  back  set  teeth  clear 
down  through  his  aching  tooth  and  into  the 
gum;  "Does  that  hurt?"  he  asked  with  evi- 
dent feeling,  "Oh,  no,"  replied  the  young 
man,  in  a  voice  suffused  with  emotion  and  sen- 
timent ;  "  oh,  no,"  he  said  tenderly,  rising  from 
the  chair  and  holding  the  dentist's  head  in  the 
stove  while  he  dragged  his  lungs  out  of  his  ears 
with  a  cork-screw.  " Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "not  at 
all ;  does  that  ?"  But  the  dentist  had  the  better 
of  the  young  man  after  all,  for  he  charged  him 
fifty  cents  and  didn't  iniYl  the  tooth  then.  But 
by  that  time  the  astonished  tooth  had  forgot  its 
aching. 


RAISING   A    CHURCH    DEBT.  55: 


RAISING  A  CHURCH  DEBT. 

Not  long  ago  Brother  Kimball  found  a  small 
church  in  central  Iowa  that  was  staggering 
along  under  a  comfortable  debt,  and  it  looked 
to  him  as  though  it  would  just  be  recreation  for 
him  to  lift  a  little  country  church  out  of  the 
depths,  after  his  experience  and  success  with 
the  big  churches  in  the  great  cities,  with  their 
overwhelming  indebtedness.  So  he  tackled 
the  quiet  little  rustic  Ebenezer,  and  shook 
it  out  of  all  the  debt  he  knew  of  in  about 
ten  hours,  and  the  building  was  clear  of  in- 
cumbrance. 

Then  before  the  benediction  was  pronounced 
the  senior  deacon  arose  and  stated  that  there 
had  never  been  but  one  payment  made  on  the 
organ,  and  that  the  accrued  interest  on  the 
deferred  payments  now  amounted  to  about 
double  the  principal. 

Well,  they  raised  this  amount,  and  Brother 
Kimball  was  on  the  point  of  picking  up  his  hat 
when  the  sexton  rose  and  remarked  that  the 
man  was  around  last  week  and  said  if  the  fur- 
nace wasn't  paid  for,  the  notes  having  run  a  year 


56  EAISIXG   A    CHURCH    ITEBT. 

over  their  time,  he  would  take  it  out  before 
I  next  Sunday. 

Mr.  Kimball  laid  down  his  hat,  took  off  his 
coat,  and  the  furnace  debt  was  lifted. 

He  got  one  arm  into  his  coat-sleeve  and 
nodded  to  the  pastor  to  dismiss  the  congrega- 
tion, when  the  president  of  the  woman's  aid 
society  said  she  wished  to  remark  that  the 
society  had  been  unable  to  fulfill  their  pledge 
to  pay  for  the  pew  cushions,  and  the  upholsterer 
had,  several  times  during  the  past  year,  served 
notice  on  them,  and  she  believed  suit  would  be 
commenced  next  week. 

Brother  Kimball  groaned,  slid  his  arm  out 
of  the  coat-sleeve,  headed  the  subscription  in 
his  usual  generous  manner,  and  soon  cleared 
the  cushions,  throwing  his  coat  over  his  arm  and 
starting  for  the  door  on  the  run  as  soon  as  this 
was  accomplished. 

But  the  chorister  called  out  that  he  would 
like  their  dear  Brother  Kimball  to  remain  and 
assist  them  in  an  effort  to  pay  for  the  hymn 
books,  and  also  for  having  the  organ  tuned.  The 
'*  dear  brother "  groaned,  stopped  and  as- 
sisted. 

Once   more  he   started  for  the  door.     But 


RAISING  A    CHURCH    DEBT. 


57 


Deacon  Opliiltree  said  he  believed,  while  they 
were  trying  to  clear  off  the  church  debt,  it 
would  be  well  for  them  to  remember  that  the 
sexton  had  not  been  paid  anything  since  1871, 
and  that  the  interest  was  running  up  on  his  back 
pay  all  the  time.  So  Mr.  Kimball  halted  once 
more,  and  struggled  along  until  the  sexton  was 
made  happy. 

Then  he  got  to  the  door,  but  some  one  had 
locked  it,  and  while  he  was  hunting  for  the  key 
a  good  sister  arose  and 
stated  that  the  baptis- 
mal robes  had  never 
been  paid  for,  and  the 
woman  who  made  them 
wanted  her  monej^  In- 
quiry on  this  subject  re- 
vealed the  startling  fact 
that  the  robes  had  all 
been  loaned  to  neighbor- 
ing churches  and  lost,  long  ago,  but  they  had 
to  be  paid  for,  all  the  same. 

The  money  was  raised,  and  Mr.  Kimball  was 
trying  to  climb  out  of  a  window  when  he  was 
pulled  back  and  informed  that  there  was  an  old 


BILLS. 


58  RAISING   A    CHURCH    DEBT. 

tax  title  on  the  lot  when  they  bought  it,  that 
had  never  been  cleared  off. 

Mr.  Kimball  got  this  little  flaw  cleared  np 
with  neatness  and  dispatch,  and  was  running 
briskly  down  the  aisle  when  he  was  collared  by 
a  trustee,  and  informed  that  the  man  v;ho  grained 
the  pulpit  and  kalsomined  the  ceiling  last  win- 
ter, was  there  and  wanted  his  money. 

He  was  paid,  and  good  Brother  Kimball  was 
half  way  out  of  the  door  before  he  learned  that 
the  chandelier  must  be  paid  for  that  week,  or 
they  would  sit  in  outer  darkness  Sunday  night. 
So  he  went  back  and  brightened  up  the  chan- 
delier. 

He  ran  out  so  quickly  then  that  he  didn't 
hear  the  man  who  repaired  the  front  fence  pre- 
sent his  bill,  but  while  he  was  walking  down  to 
the  depot  with  the  senior  deacon,  that  official 
suddenly  halted,  while  a  look  of  grave  concern 
overspread  his  face. 

*' Well,  well,  well!"  he  said,  '4f  that  isn't 
too  bad." 

^'What  is  it?"  nervously  inquired  Brother 
Kimball. 

''  Why,"  responded  the  deacon,  dolefully, 
*'we  forgot  all  about  the  pastors  salary;    he 


THE   ETHICS    OF   BUXa-HOLES.  59 

only  gets  $700  a  year,  and  we  ain't  paid  him 
nothing  but  two  donation  parties  since  a  year 
and  a  half  ago.'' 

And  when  Brother  Kimball  climbed  on  the 
train  he  resolved  that  the  next  time  he  tackled 
a  strange  church  he  would  demand  a  certiiied 
statement  before  he  took  off  his  coat. 


THE   ETHICS   OF   BUXG  HOLES. 

Young  Mr.  Tarantret,  just  returned  from 
college,  was  taking  some  of  his  friends  into  a 
cooper  shop,  desiring  to  show  off  the  principal 
manufactories  of  Burlington.  He  hadn't  been 
in  a  cooper  shop  so  very  many  times  himself. 
He  x^aused  at  a  new-laid  barrel  and  rested  his 
cane  in  the  bung-hole.  "Here,"  he  said,  with 
the  tone  of  a  guide,  "is  where  they  begin  to 
make  the  barrel ;  or  rather,"  he  added  quickly, 
observing  a  smile  that  he  couldn't  exactly  un- 
derstand play  over  the  countenances  of  his 
friends,  "or  rather,  this  is  where  they  quit; 
this  is  the  finish  of  it."  And  then  the  smile 
deepened  so  that  for  ten  minutes  you  couldn't 
hear  the  noise  of  hammer  and  adze  in  the  shop. 


60  THE   COMPUSITOR  FIEND. 


THE  COMPOSITOK  FIEND. 

The  night  is  waning,  and  the  hush  of  inspira- 
tion makes  the  sanctum  solemn.  The  news 
editor  has  just  written  himself  a  New  York  dis- 
patch, telling  all  about  the  sea  serpent.  The 
political  editor  is  just  closing  a  crusher  full  of 
blood  and  thunder,  and  winding  up  with  a  ter- 
rific exposure.  The  proof  reader  is  opening  a 
new  case  of  pencils  for  the  purpose  of  marking 
all  the  errors  in  six  lines  of  proof.  The  funny 
man,  from  the  tearful  expression  of  his  sorrow- 
ful countenance,  is  known  to  be  in  the  throes  of 
a  joke.     The  joke  is  born,  and  this  is  its  name  : 

"A  man  died  in  Atchison,  Kansas,  last 
week,  from  eating  diseased  buifalo  meat.  A 
clear  case  of  suicide — death  from  cold  bison." 

Enter  the  intelligent  compositor.    ''This  At- 
chison item,  what  is  this  last  word?" 
To  him,  the  funny  man.     "Bison." 
Intelligent  compositor.     "  B,-i,-s,-o,-n.  1" 
Funnyman.     "Yes." 
The  intelligent  compositor  demands    to   be 


THE  COMPOSITOR  FIEXD.  61 

informed  what  it  means,  and  the  painstaking 
funny  man,  with  many  tears,  explains  the  joke, 
and  with  great  elaboration  shows  forth  how  it  is 
a  play  on  "cold  pisen." 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  the  intelligent  compositor, 
and  retires.     Sets  it  up  "  cold  poison." 

Funny  man  groans,  takes  the  proof,  seeks 
the  intelligent  compositor,  and  explains  that  he 
wishes  not  only  to  make  a  play  on  the  word 
"pisen"  but  also  on  the  word  "bison." 

"And  what  is  that?"  asks  the  intelligent 
compositor. 

The  funny  man  patiently  explains  that  it 
means  "buffalo." 

"Oh,  yes  .^"  shouts  the  intelligent  composi- 
tor, ''''  JSow  I  understand." 

Mortified  funny  man  retires,  and  goes  home 
in  tranquil  confidence  and  growing  fame. 

Paper  comes  out  in  the  morning;  "cold 
buffalo." 

Tableau.     Red  fire  and  slow  curtain. 


62  THE   LEGEND   OF   THE   DRUMMLTH. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  DRUMMUH. 

It  was  during  the  reign  of  the  good  Caliph, 
when  Abou  Tamerlik  came  to  the  city  of  Bag- 
dad, threw  his  gripsack  on  the  counter,  and,  aa 
he  registered,  spake  cheerfully  unto  the  clerk, 
saying  :— 

^'  A  sample  room  on  the  first  floor,  and  send 
my  keyster  up  right  away,  and  call  me  for  the 
6.28  train  east,  in  the  morning." 

And  Easier  el  Jab,  the  clerk,  looked  at  him, 
but  went  away  to  the  mirror  and  gazed  at  his 
new  diamond. 

And  Abou  Tamerlik  hied  him  forth  and 
went  into  the  booths  and  bazars,  and  laid  hold 
upon  the  merchants  and  enticed  them  into  his 
room  and  spread  out  his  samples  and  besought 
them  to  buy.  And  when  night  was  come  he 
slept.  Because,  he  said,  it  is  a  dead  town  and 
there  is  no  place  to  go. 

And  before  the  second  watch  of  the  night, 
Rhumul  em  Uhp,  the  porter,  smote  on  the  panels 
of  his  door  and  cried  aloud  : 

''  Oh,  Abou  Tamerlik,  arise  and  dress,  for  it 
is  train  time." 


THE   LEGEND   OF  THE   DRUMMUH.  63 

And  Aboil  arose  and  girt  his  raiment  about 
liim  and  hastened  down  stairs  and  crept  into 
the  'bus. 

And  he  marveled  that  he  was  so  sleepy,  be- 
cause he  knew  he  went  to  bed  exceedingly  early 
and  marvelously  sober. 

And  when  they  got  to  the  depot,  lo,  it  was 
the  mail  west,  and  it  was  10.25  p.  :m. 

And  Abou  Tamerlik  swore  and  reached  for 
the  porter,  that  he  might  smite  him,  and  he  said 
unto  him  : 

*' Carry  me  back  to  my  own  room  and  see 
that  thou  call  me  at  6.28  a.  m.,  or  thou 
diest." 

And  ere  he  had  been  asleep  even  until  the 
midnight  watch,  Rhumul  em  Uhp  smote  again 
upon  the  panels  of  his  door,  and  cried 
aloud : 

''Awake,  Abou  Tamerlik,  for  the  time 
waneth,  and  the  train  stayeth  for  no  man. 
Awake  and  haste,  for  slumber  overtook  thy 
servant,  and  the  way  is  long  and  the  'bus 
gone !" 

And  Abou  Tamerlik  arose  and  dressed,  and 
girded  up  his  loins,  and  set  forth  with  great 
speed,  for  his  heart  was  anxious.    K"everthe- 


64  THE   LEGEND   OF  THE  DRUMMUH. 

less,  he  gave  Rhumul  em  Uhp  a  quarter  and 
made  him  carry  his  grip,  and  he  cursed  him  for 
a  driveling  laggard. 

And  when  they  were  come  to  the  train  it  was 
11.46  p.  M.,  and  it  was 
a  way  freight  going 
south. 

And  Abou  Tamer- 
lik  fell  upon  Rliumul 
em  Uhpand  smote  him 
and  treated  him  rough- 
ly, and  said  : 

"Oh,  pale  gray  ass 

THE  VENGEFUL  DRUMMUH.  ^^  ^jj  ^^^^^^   ^^^^   ^^^^^^^^, 

et  pity  thee  if  thou  callest  me  once  more  be- 
fore the  6.28  A.  M.  east." 

And  he  gat  him  into  his  bed. 

Now,  when  sleep  fell  heavily  upon  Abou 
Tamerlik,  for  he  was  sore  discouraged,  Ehumul 
em  Uhp  kicked  fiercely  against  the  panels  of  his 
door,  and  said  : 

"  Oh,  Abou  Tamerlik  the  drummuh,  awake 
and  dress  with  all  speed.  It  is  night  in  the  val- 
leys, but  the  day-star  shines  on  the  mountains. 
Truly  the  train  is  even  now  due  at  the  depot, 
but  the  'bus  is  indeed  gone." 


THE   LEGEND    OF  THE  DEUMMUH.  65 

And  Abou  Tamerlik  the  drammuh  swore 
himself  awake,  and  put  on  his  robes  and  hast- 
ened to  the  depot,  while  Khumul  em  Uhp,  the 
porter,  went  before  w^ith  a  lantern. 

For  it  was  pitch  dark  and  raining  like  a 
house  a-fire. 

And  when  they  reached  the  depot  it  was  a 
gravel  train,  going  west,  and  the  clock  in  the 
steeple  tolled  2  a.  :5r. 

And  Abou  Tamerlik  fell  upon  Rhumul  em 
Uhp,  the  porter,  and  beat  him  all  the  way  home, 
and  pelted  him  with  mud,  and  broke  his  lantern 
and  cursed  him.  And  he  got  him  to  bed  and 
slept. 

Now,  when  Abou  Tamerlik  awoke  the  sun 
was  high  and  the  noise  of  the  street  car  rattled 
in  the  street.  And  his  heart  smote  him  ;  and 
he  went  down  stairs  and  the  clerk  said  to 
him : 

"Oh,  Abou  Tamerlik,  live  in  peace.  It  is 
too  late  for  breakfast  and  too  early  for  dinner, 
nevertheless,  it  won't  make  any  difference  in 
the  bill." 

And  Abou  Tamerlik  the  drummuh   sought 
Rhumul  em  Uhp,  the  porter,  and  caught  him 
by  the  beard,  and  said  unto  him  : 
6 


DO  THE   LEGEND   OF  THE  DF.UMMUH. 

*'  Oh,  chuck  el  edded  pup  !  (which  is,  ^Thou 
that  sleepest  at  train  time,')  why  hast  thou  for- 
gotten me?" 

And  Rhumul  em  Uhp  was  angry,  and  said : 

"  Oh,  Abou  Tamerlik  the  drummuh,  hasty 
in  speech  and  slow  to  think  ;  wherefore  shouldst 
thou  get  up  at  daybreak,  when  there  is  another 
train  goes  the  same  way  to-morrow  morning." 

But  Abou  Tamerlik  would  not  hearken  unto 
him,  but  paid  his  bill  and  hired  a  team  and  a 
man  to  take  him  to  the  next  town.  And  he 
hired  the  team  at  the  livery  stable,  and  he  cursed 
the  house  that  he  put  up  at. 

Now,  the  livery  stable  belonged  to  the  land- 
lord, all  the  same.  Bat  Abou  Tamerlik,  the 
drummuh,  wist  not  that  it  was  so,  and  while  he 
rolled  painfully  along  the  stony  highway,  he 
mused  as  he  rode,  and,  musing,  sang  to  these 
words  : 

A   LEGEND    OF   ARABY. 

'TwAS  even,  and  Fatima,  old  and  gray, 

Stood  at  her  door  to  hear  the  khadoof  sing  ; 

And  as  the  tarboosh  tolled  the  close  of  day, 
She  heard  her  faithful  Bali-wow  whimpering, 

*'  Kooftah  ;  the  dog  is  hungering,"  she  said, 

"  And  too  stuck  up,  I  reckon,  to  eat  bread." 


A    LEGEND    OF   ARABY. 


6T 


Straightway  she  oped  the  ke-yew-ubbahrd  door 
For  the  dim  relic  of  the  soup — a  bone  ; 

While  Bah-wow  sat  expectant  on  the  floor, 
And  pounded  with  his  tail  in  monotone, 

But  she  put  on  her  khalfadon,  and  said, 

"There  is  no  meat  ;  by-jhings  ;  you  must  eat  bread.'* 

She  took  the  Wady  Hadjr  in  her  hand. 

And  songht  the  Beled  Yemen  down  the  street  ; 

While  the  low  sun  across  the  desert's  sand 
Touched  with  the  hadramaut  Akaba's  feet, 

To  speak  her  hunger,  quick  she  touched  her  throat, 

"  Yokoob  el  Hafed,  haben  sie  auch  brod  ?" 


68  A    LEGEND   OF   ARABY. 

Then  raised  her  finger  in  the  air  and  smiled, 
*'  Uoop-la  I"  she  said,  "  just  put  it  on  the  slate," 

And  homeward  fled,  while  Hafed,  somewhat  riledj, 
Marked  on  her  score  twelve  cents  instead  of  eight. 

But  when  Fatiraa  reached  her  rancho, — zounds  ! 

Bah-wow  had  sought  the  happy-hunting-grounds. 

In  speecliless  grief  she  dashed  upon  the  floor 
The  loaf,  for  lack  of  which  the  dog  went  dead. 

She  paused  one  moment,  at  the  open  door  ; 
"  No,  he's  too  thin  for  sausages,"  she  said, 

"Sihoud,  mehanna  di-ahy  jab  el  wog  gin  I" 

(Give  me  a  cracker-box  to  put  my  dog  in.) 

But  at  the  door  she  stops  and  gives  a  shriek 
That  can  be  heard  at  Nedjed,  fourteen  miles, 

For  the  dead  Bah-wow,  placid,  happy,  sleek. 
Sits  up  alive,  looks  in  her  face,  and  smiles, 

*'  Islam  Abdallah  !  Nassir-el-wahed  matchet  I" 

Which  means,  "Just  wait  a  minute,  and  you'll  catch 
it!" 

She  sought  the  bazar  of  the  shoostorman, 

And  cried,  "Ahl  Wilkin,  I  would  buy  a  boot, 

Strong  as  a  derrick,  that  will  boost  a  man 
High  as  the  price  of  early  northern  fruit." 

She  put  it  on,  and  found  her  dog,  the  brute, 

At  the  front  window,  playing  of  the  flute. 


WHAT    ARE    WE    HERE    FOR.  69 

Then  she  was  mad.    "By  Ibrahim's  beard,"  she  yelled, 
"  I'd  rather  hear  a  double-barreled  bassoon  !" 

She  raised  her  foot  ;  with  rage  her  bosom  swelled, 
And  then  she  lifted  Bah-wow  to  the  moon, 

*'  Wadji  iouarick  !  Ghattee  !"  he  ki-yi'd, 

Which  means,  "  I  wish  I'd  stayed  dead  when  I  died." 

Slow  sinks  the  sun  ;  the  tarboosh  on  the  jeld 

By  the  kafusha's  marabout  is  thrust  ; 
And  scarce  a  mourzouk  in  the  nagah  held, 

Breathes  in  the  haunted  bustchufullah's  crust, 
While  the  gafallah  sings  the  Badween  chants 
Likewise  his  sistahs,  cuzzhans,  and  hysahntts. 


WHAT  ARE  WE  HERE  FOR? 

*' What  are  we  here  for,"  asked  Goethe,  '4f 
not  to  make  transitory  things  lasting?''  Oh, 
matchless  poet,  that's  what  we  think  and  that's 
what  we  are  trying  to  do  ;  but  when  a  fellow  has 
worn  the  same  ulster  three  winters  and  two 
summers,  the  dawn  of  its  third  cycle  as  a  duster 
finds  its  transitoriness  outvoting  its  lastingness 
eight  to  seven,  and  what  is  courage,  ambition, 
or  genius  going  to  do  about  it  ? 


70       THE  BOYS  AXD  THE  APPLES. 


THE  BOYS   AND   THE  APPLES. 

Now  when  the  antunm  was  come  it  was  so 
that  the  land  of  Burlington  and  the  country 
round  about  abounded  with  much  apples,  so 
that  the  sound  of  the  cider  press  ceased  not 
from  morning  even  unto  the  night. 

And  in  the  moi'ning  the  husbandman  arose, 
and  he  said,  Go  to,  apples  is  not  worth  much, 
but  so  much  as  they  will  fetch  I  will  have. 
And  he  laded  up  his  wagon,  and  lilled  its  bed 
even  to  overflowing  with  bell-flowers,  and  seek- 
no-farthers,  and  duchesses,  and  spitzbergens, 
and  snow  apples  and  russets,  each  after  his 
kind. 

And  when  he  was  come  nigh  to  the  town,  lo, 
three  town  boys  met  him  and  spoke  unto  him 
delicately,  and  said.  Give  us  a  napple. 

And  his  heart  was  moved  with  good  nature, 
and  he  hearkened  unto  their  words,  and  said 
unto  them,  Yea,  climb  in,  and  eat  your  fill. 

And   as   he  journeyed   on   he  met   yet  two 
other  boys.     And  they  waxed  bold  when  they  i 
saw  the  first  three  riding  and  eating  apples,  and 
they    cried    aloud  :    Give    us    snapple.      And 


THE   BOYS   AND   THE    APPLES. 


71 


the  man  spake  unto  them  and  said  Yea.  And 
they  dome  in. 

And  they  spake  not  one  to  another,  neither 
did  they  cease  to  eat  apples,  save  when  they 
paused  that  they  might  take  breath. 

And    the    husbandman    made    merry    and 


FREE   LUNCH   i   LA   CART. 


laughed  with  himself  to  see  them  eat,  and  he 
said  :  Ho,  ho  ;  Ho,  ho  ! 

But  the  lads  laughed  not,  for  they  were 
busy. 

Now  the  eldest  of  the  lads  was  thirteen  years 


72       THE  BOYS  AND  THE  APPLES. 

old,  and  the  youngest  thereof  was  in  his  ninth 
year.  And  they  were  exceeding  lean  and  ill- 
favored 

And  when  the  husbandman  was  entered  into 
the  city  he  drave  along  the  streets,  and  lifted 
up  his  voice  and  shouted  aloud,  Ap-pulls ! 
Ap-pulls  !  Here's  yer  nighseatinnapples  !  Ap- 
pulls,  Ap-pulls! 

And  the  women  of  the  city  leaned  over  the 
fences  and  said,  one  to  another,  Lo,  another 
rapple  wagin. 

And  they  spake  unto  the  man  and  say,  Hast 
thou  of  a  verity  good  eatinnapples? 

And  he  said,  Of  a  verity  I  have.  Come 
forth. 

And  when  they  were  come  forth  they  looked 
into  his  wagon,  and  they  were  wroth  and  cried 
out  against  him.  And  they  said.  Thou  hast 
mocked  us  and  thou  has  deceived  thine  hand- 
maidens with  the  words  of  thy  mouth.  Verily 
thou  hast  naught  ;  wherefore  then  dost  thou 
drive  through  the  city  crying,  Ap-pulls  ? 

And  when  he  had  turned  him  around  and 
looked  he  was  speechless. 

And  the  women  of  the  city  cried,  Go  to  ;  are 
not  thy  words  altogether  lighter  than  vanity  ? 


THE   BOYS    AXD   THE   APPLES.  73 

And  he  smote  upon  his  breast  and  sware 
unto  them,  saying,  I  am  a  truthful  man  and 
the  son  of  a  truthful  man.  When  thy  servant 
left  home  this  morning  there  was  even  thirty-' 
seven  bushels  of  apples  in  the  wagon  bed. 

Now  there  was  in  the  waa:on  nau2:ht  save  the 
five  boys.  Neither  was  there  so  much  as  one 
small  apple. 

And  the  husbandman  necked  the  lads,  and 
entreated  them  roughly,  for  he  said,  What  is 
it  that  ye  have  done  i  For  ye  have  cast  my  ap- 
ples into  the  street. 

But  the  lads  wept  bitterly  and  said,  Nay, 
not  so.  Are  thy  servants  pigs  that  they  should 
do  such  a  thing  ? 

And  he  said.  Declare  unto  me,  then,  what 
thou  hast  done  with  my  apples. 

And  the  lads  pointed  at  each  other,  even  each 
one  at  his  fellow,  and  they  wept  and  exclaimed 
with  one  accord,  He  eat  'em. 

And  the  husbandman  was  wroth  and  would 
not  believe  them. 

For  he  wist  not  that  the  town  boj^  was  hollow 
clear  into  the  ground. 

But  the  women  of  the  city  cried  unto  him 
and  said,  How  far  is  it  the  lads  have  ridden 


74        THE  BOYS  AND  THE  APPLES. 

with  thee  ?  And  he  said,  Even  as  far  as  a  mile 
and  a  half. 

And  the  women  laughed  and  made  merry 
'and  said,  Of  a  surety  it  is  even  so  as  the  lads 
have  said.     They  have  eaten  up  all  the  apples. 

And  they  made  light  of  it,  as  though  it  had 
been  a  very  small  thing  for  the  lads  to  do. 

And  the  husbandman  marveled  greatly 
within  himself,  for  the  live  lads  did  not  fill  one 
small  end  of  the  wagon.  And  it  was  so  that  it 
was  beyond  his  finding  out,  where  the  thirty- 
seven  bushels  of  apples  had  stowed  themselves. 

So  he  turned  him  about  and  dravehome,  and 
he  commanded  the  lads  that  they  follow  him 
not. 

And  they  hooted  at  him  and  cast  stones  after 
him  even  unto  the  city  gates,  for  such  is  the 
custom  and  manner  of  the  town  boy. 

But  the  husbandman  spake  not  unto  tliem, 
neither  reproved  he  tliem,  for  his  mind  was 
heavy  with  thinking  of  this  wonderful  thing  he 
had  seen. 


RULES  FOR  POULTRY  NOVICES.       7d 


RULES   FOR    POULTRY   XO VICES. 

1.  Wait  until  the  moon  goes  down  before 
purchasing  your  chickens.  Pullets  are  always 
cheaper  in  the  dusky  hours  that  precede  the 
dawn. 

2.  If  you  buy  fancy  eggs  for  hatching,  do 
not  buy  any  that  were  picked  last  fall.  "Hope 
springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast,"  but  an 
e^^  stavs  right  bv  the  date  of  its  birth,  and  is 
twenty-four  hours  older  and  poorer  at  each  suc- 
ceeding sunset. 

3.  Always  consult  the  hen's  convenience  in 
the  matter  of  setting.  Do  not  insist  on  her 
breaking  any  other  engagements  or  putting  off 
baking  or  ironing  day  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
charge  of  thirteen  eggs,  of  unknown  sex  or 
quality.  Better,  far  better,  that  you  should 
give  up  society  and  set  on  those  eggs  yourself, 
rather  than  intrust  them  to  a  reluctant  and 
dissembling  hen.  You  might  break  the  eggs, 
but  the  fickle  hen  would  break  for  the  verbena 
bed  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

4.  Build  your  nests  wide  enough  for  a  cow 
to  turn  around  in.     If  the  nest  has  an  all-out- 


76  EULES    FOR   POULTRY   NOVICES. 

door,  illimitable  waste  kind  of  look  to  it, 
where  one  hen  will  feel  so  lonesome  and  lost 
that  she  will  wail  and  squawk  with  terror  ever}^* 
time  slie  looks  around  and  feels  the  burden  of 
her  loneliness  upon  her,  all  the  wealth  of  the 
Incas  couldn't  induce  another  hen  to  go  in 
and  keep  her  company  or  gossip  with  her  until 
bed  time.  But  if  you  make  a  nest  just  big 
enough  for  one  lean  hen  to  squeeze  into  with- 
out breathing,  the  nine  biggest  hens  in  your 
flock  will  fight  for  that  nest  and  all  crowd  into 
it  at  the  same  time,  flatten  out  all  the  eggs,  and 
then,  with  gloomy  but  patient  countenances, 
and  their  several  heads  turned  in  nine  different 
directions,  they  will  sit  on  the  cold  ashes  of 
shattered  ambition  and  wrecked  dreams  for  the 
next  four  months. 

5.  Sprinkle  sulphur  in  the  nests  before  the 
hen  is  allowed  to  enter  upon  the  performance 
of  her  incubation  contract.  The  smell  of  the 
sulphur  will  prevent  the  hen  from  imbibing  the 
pernicious  doctrines  of  atheism,  and  will  keep 
her  from  assuming  too  much,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  a  hen  that  can  produce  a  diurnal 
egg,  and  from  that  evolve  a  living,  breathing, 
scratching  chicken,  could,  if  she  would  give  her 


RULES   FOR   POULTRY   NOVICES. 


77 


Hiind  to  it,  create  a  universe  and  peoj)le  its  plan- 
ets with  races  of  lying,  thieving,  swearing  men. 

6.  Boost  the  hen  off  the  nest  once  a  day  for 
exercise.  Too  much  sentiment  and  reHection 
and  an  excess  of  self-communion  is  apt  to  make 
the  hen  moody  and  low-spirited.  Point  her  to 
the  dreadful  effects  of  too  long  continued  and 
unbroken  exertion  of  the  brain,  as  shown  in  the 
sad  fate  of  Sergeant  Bates  and  Denis  Kearney. 

7.  About    the    time 


the 


chicks  are 


A   HINT   TO   THE    WISE. 


coming  out,  borrow  a 
shotgun  and  tell  your 
neighbor  some  scoun- 
drel is  shooting  cats, 
and  last  night  he  killed 
a  cat  that  belonged  to 
your  wife,  that  you 
wouldn't  have  taken 
fifty  dollars  for.  This  will  pave  the  way  for 
future  develoj^ments.  A  successful  hennery  is 
fatal  to  a  cat. 

10.  When  you  catch  a  sentimental-looking 
Boston  fowl  alone  in  the  gloaming,  don't  dis- 
turb love's  young  dream  wdthin  lit3r  swelling 
breast,  by  shooing  her.     It  will  be  one  hen  in 


78  LINES    TO    A    HEX. 

your  game-bag  if  you  just  sit  down  near  her 
and  whisper  something  like  this  into  her  cul- 
tured ear : — 

LINES     TO    A    HEX. 

All  the  day  long,  in  the  haze  of  October, 

Restless  old  hen  ; 
Wand'ring  disconsolate,  moody  and  sober,* 

Where  hast  thou  been  ?  f 

Gone  are  the  joys  of  the  onion  bed, 
Summer's  sweet  scratching  grounds  have  sped  ; 
"What  does  it  count  ?     You  still  are  fed. 
Thankless  old  hen. 

Art  thou  of  the  Springtime's  budding  day 

Dreaming,  old  hen? 
Brace  up,  November  is  shorter  than  May, 

By  one  day,  hen. 

And  what  then,  cackler  ?     After  a  while 
Border  and  mound  your  claws  will  spoil  ;  I 

*  A  prominent  clergyman  offered  us  a  chromo  and  a  meer- 
schaum pipe  to  print  that  word  "Sankey"for  the  sake  of 
the  joke,  but  we  refused.  It  would  be  irreverent,  and  spoil 
the  rhyme. 

t  Pronounced  "ben." 

;  Pronounced  "spile.'' 


LINES    TO    A   HEN".  79 

Women  may  weep,  but  you  will  smile 
Gayly,  oh  hen. 

Now,  by  the  cloud  on  your  puzzled  brow, 

Coming  again, 
Surely  you're  thinking  and  wondering  how 

Patiently,  hen, 

All  hot  July,  in  an  old  nail  keg. 
You  sot*  without  stirring  a  wing  or  peg, 
Ou  a  bureau-knob  and  a  porcelain  e^gy 
Fruitlessly,  hen. 

Banish  your  gloom  I    'Tis  the  world's  hard  way, 

Bow  to  it,  then  ; 
Labor  and  wait,  for  a  brighter  day 

Dawns  on  you,  hen. 

I,  too,  have  wrought  in  defeat's  harsh  school  ; 
I,  too,  have — "  ka-wah-kwah  ["—conned  this  rule— 
'*C'k't  c't  ka-dah  cut  !  kwah  !  !"     What  a  fool 
Thing  you  are,  hen. 

*  Sometimes  written  "sat." 


80  GETTING    MY  IIAIE    TRIMMED. 


GETTIXG  MY  HAIR  TRIMMED. 

The  wild,  ungovernable  passion  a  barber 
has  for  trimming  your  hair!  On  the  fourth  of 
December  I  was  in  Boston,  thinking  about  a 
lecture  I  was  expected  to  deliver  in  the  evening, 
and  so  badly  scared  that  I  couldn't  remember 
the  subject  nor  what  it  was  about.  I  went  into 
a  Tremont  street  ''Institute  of  Facial  Manipu- 
lation and  Tonsorial  Decoration,"  and  inquired 
for  the  professor  who  occupied  the  chair  of 
Mediaeval  Shaving  and  Nineteenth  Century 
Shampoo.  One  of  the  junior  members  of  the 
faculty,  who  was  brushing  an  under-graduate's 
coat,  pointed  me  to  a  chair,  and  I  climbed  in. 
When  the  performance  was  about  conchuled, 
the  barber  said  to  me  : 

*'Have  your  hair  trimmed,  sir?" 

I  believed  not. 

''Needs  it  very  badly,  sir  ;''  he  said,  ''looks 
very  ragged." 

I  never  argue  with  a  barber.  I  said,  "  All 
right,  trim  it  a  little,  but  don  t  make  it  any 
shorter." 

He  immediately  trimmed  all  the  curl  out  of 


GETTING   MY  UAIR  TRIMMED.  81 

it,  and  m}^  hair  naturally,  you  know,  lias  a  very 
graceful  curl  to  it.  I  never  discovered  this 
myself  until  a  few  months  ago,  and  then  I  was 
very  much  surprised.  I  discovered  it  by  look- 
ing at  my  lithograph. 

Well,  anyhow,  he  trimmed  it. 

On  the  sixth  of  December  I  was  at  Bath, 
Maine.  Again  I  was  shaved,  and  again  the 
barber  implored  me  to  let  him  trim  my  hair. 
When  I  answered  him  that  it  had  been  trimmed 
only  two  days  before,  he  spitefully  asked  where 
it  was  done.  I  told  him,  and  he  gave  expres- 
sion to  a  burst  of  sarcastic  laughter. 

''Well,  well,  well!"  he  said  at  last,  "so 
you  let  them  trim  your  hair  in  Boston  ?  AVell, 
well !  Now,  you  look  like  a  man  who  has  been 
around  the  world  enough  to  know  better  than 
that." 

Then  he  affected  to  examine  a  lock  or  two 
very  particularly,  and  sighed  heavily. 

"Dear,    dear,"    he    said,    "I    dont   know, 
really,  as  I  could  do  anything  with  that  hair  or 
J  not ;  it's  too  bad." 

Well,  his  manner  frightened  me,  and  I  told 
him  to  go  ahead  and  trim  it,  but  please  not 
make  it  any  shorter. 


82  GETTING    MY  HAIR  TRIMMED. 

"No,"  he  said,  "  oh,  no,  it  wasn't  necessary 
to  cut  it  any  shorter,  it  was  really  too  short 
now,  but  it  did  need  trimming." 

So  he  "trimmed"  it,  and  when  I  faced  the 
Rockland  audience  that  night,  I  looked  like  a 
prize-fighter. 

In  four  days  from  that  time  I  was  sitting  in 
the  chair  of  a  barber  down  in  New  York  State. 
He  shaved  me  in  grateful  silence,  and  then 
thoughtfully  run  his  fingers  over  my  lonely  hair. 

"Trim  this  hair  a  little,  sir?"  he  said, 
"  straighten  it  up  about  the  edges  f 

I  meekly  told  him  I  had  it  trimmed  twice 
during  the  preceding  week,  and  I  was  afraid  it 
was  getting  too  short  for  winter  wear. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  he  didn't  know  but  what 
it  was  pretty  short,  but  you  didn  t  need  to  cut 
it  any  shorter  to  trim  it.  It  was  in  very  bad, 
ragged  shape  at  the  ends." 

I  remained  silent  and  obstinate,  and  he 
asked  me  where  I  had  it  trimmed  last.  I  told 
him,  and  he  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter  that 
made  the  windows  rattle. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jim?"  inquired  an 
assistant  partner  down  the  room,  holding  his 
patient  in  the  chair  by  the  nose. 


GETTIXG    MY  HAIR    TRIMMED.  S3 

Jim  Stifled  his  laughter,  and  replied  : 

''This  gentleman  had  his  hair  trimmed  down 
in  Maine.'' 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  merriment  all 
over  the  shoi^,  and  the  apprentice  laid  down  the 
brush  he  was  washing,  and  came  over  to  look 
at  the  Maine  cut,  that  he  might  never  forget  it. 
I  surrendered.  "Trim  it  a  little,  then,"'  1 
groaned,  ''but  in  the  name  of  humanit}',  don't 
cut  it  any  shorter." 

"  ]So,"  the  barber  said,  "he  wouldn't  make 
it  a  hair's  breadth  shorter." 

When  I  left  that  shop,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
my  ears,  my  hat  would  have  fallen  down  clear 
on  my  shoulders.  When  I  reached  the  hotel, 
everybody  started,  and  a  couple  of  men  got  up 
and  read  a  hand-bill  on  the  wall,  descriptive  of 
a  convict  who  had  recentl}'  escaped  from  Sing 
Sing,  and  looked  from  the  bill  to  myself  very 
intently.  That  night  several  of  the  audience 
drew  revolvers  as  I  came  out  on  the  platform. 

Then  I  went  to  Amsterdam,  Xew  York. 
The  barber  of  that  sleepy  village,  who,  in  the 
interval  of  his  other  duties  acts  as  mayor  of  the 
town  and  edits  the  local  papers,  undertook  to 
shave  me  wiili  a  piece  of  hoop  iron  he  pulled 


84  GETTING    MY  HAIR   TRIMMED. 

out  of  bis  boot  leg.  When  I  resisted,  he  went 
out  into  the  kitchen  and  came  back  with  a 
kitchen  knife  and  a  can  opener,  and  offered  me 
my  choice.  I  selected  the  can  opener,  and  he 
began  the  massacre,  remarking  incidentally  that 
he  used  to  keep  a  good  sharp  spoke-shave  for 
his  particuUir  customers,  but  he  had  lost  it. 
Then  he  said  my  hair  needed  trimming,  very 
badly.  I  protested  that  it  was  impossible,  it 
had  been  trimmed  three  times  within  ten  days, 
and  was  as  short  now  as  a  business  man  on  the 
first  of  January. 

*'0h,"  he  said,  "it  wasn't  too  short,  and 
besides,  there  was  no  style  about  it  at  all."  He 
could  give  it  some  shape,  however,  he  said, 
without  making  it  any  shorter. 

So  I  surrendered  and  told  him  to  shape  it  up. 
And  if  that  fore  doomed,  abandoned,  Amster- 
dam son  of  an  oakum-picker  didn't  go  out 
into  the  woodshed  and  come  back  with  a  rusty 
old  horse-rasp,  and  begin  to  file  away  Avhat 
little  hair  I  had  left.  He  allowed  a  few  shreds 
and  patches  to  remain,  however,  clinging  here 
and  there  to  my  scalp  in  ghostly  loneliness.  I 
rather  feared  that  my  appearance  that  evening 
would  create  a   panic,  but  it   did  not.     I  ob- 


GETTING  MY  HAIR  TRIMMED.  85 

served  that  the  majority  of  the  audience  had 
their  heads  "shaped  up"  after  the  same 
manner,  and  were  rather  pleased  with  my  con- 
formity to  the  local  custom  and  style. 

Well,  I  got  along  to  Corry,  Pennsylvania, 
and  rushed  in  for  a  shave  and  got  it,  in  one 
time  and  two  motions. 

"Hair  trimmed,  sirT'  the  barber  said. 

I  supposed  he  was  speaking  sarcastically, 
and  so  I  laughed,  but  very  feebly,  for  I  was 
getting  to  be  a  little  sensitive  on  the  subject  of 
my  hair,  or  rather,  my  late  hair.  But  he  re- 
peated his  question,  and  said  that  it  needed 
trimming  very  badly.  I  told  him  that  w^as 
what  ailed  it,  it  had  been  trimmed  to  death ; 
why,  I  said,  my  hair  had  been  trimmed  live 
times  during  the  past  thirteen  days.  And  I 
was  afraid  it  wouldn't  last  much  longer. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  was  hardly  the  thing 
for  a  man  of  my  impressive  appearance,  who 
would  naturally  attract  attention  the  moment  I 
entered  a  room  (I  have  to  stand  on  my  tiptoes 
and  hold  on  with  both  hands  to  look  over  the 
back  of  a  car  seat),  to  go  around  wuth  such  a 
head  of  hair,  when  he  could  straighten  it  out 
for  me  in  a  minute." 


86 


GETTING   MY  HAIR  TRIMMED. 


I  told  him  to  go  ahead,  and  closed  my  eyes 
and  wondered  what  would  come  next. 

That  fellow  took  a 
pair  of  dentist's  forceps 
and  ''  pulled  "  every 
lock  of  hair  I  had  left. 

''  There,"  he  said 
proudly,  "  now,  when 
your  hair  grows  out  it 
will  grow  out  even." 

I  was  a  little  dis- 
mayed at  first  when  I 
looked  at  my  glistening 
poll,  but  after  all  it 
was  a  relief  to  know  that  the  end  was  reached, 
and  nobody  could  torment  me  again  to  have  my 
hair  trimmed  for  several  weeks.  But  when  I 
got  shaved  at  Ashtabula,  the  barber  insisted  on 
puttying  up  the  holes  and  giving  my  head  a 
coat  of  shellac.  1  yielded,  and  my  head  looked 
like  a  varnished  globe  with  the  maps  left  off. 
Two  days  afterward,  I  sat  in  a  barber's  chair  at 
Mansfield.  The  barber  shaved  me  silently. 
Then  he  paused,  with  a  bottle  poised  in  his 
hand,  and  said : 
^' Shampoo  r' 


TONSORIAL    TROUBLES. 


87 


I  answered  him  with  a  look.  Then  he  oiled 
my  hairless  globe  and  bent  over  it  for  a 
moment  with  a  hairbrush.     Then  he  said  : 

*'0n  which  side  do  you  part  your  hair  ?" 


Mr.  Earnest  Marchemo:n-t,  of  West  Hill, 
is  not  a  very  experienced  sportsman,  but  he  set 
a  trap,  all  the  same,  for  a  fox  or  some  other 
animal  that  was  decimating  his  hen-roosts.  The 
next  morning  there  was  something  stirring 
about  in  the  trap.  Mr.  Marchemont  got  down 
on  his  knees  and  looked  in.  "It  looks  like  a 
rabbit,"  he  said,  and  he  opened  the  trap.  "But 
it  doesn't  smell  exactly  like  one,"  he  added 
sadly  ;  and  when  he  went  to  the  house  Mrs. 
Marchemont  made  him  stand  in  the  back  yard 
while  she  stopped  her  nose  up  with  blue 
clay  and  undressed  him  with  the  cistern-pole. 
"Each  heart  knows  its  own  bitterness  best," 
Mr.  Marchemont  said,  when  his  tailor  wondered 
what  he  wanted  another  fall  suit  already  for. 


88  CLEAXI^^G    HOUSE. 


CLEAXIXG    HOUSE. 

It  didn't  occur  to  the  Bashful  Bazouk  of 
South  Hill,  when  he  went  to  see  the  only  pretty 
girl  in  Burlington  last  AVednesday  evening, 
that  her  folks  had  been  cleaning  house  that 
daj\  and  that  she  was  naturally  a  little  tired 
and  fretful.  He  thought  for  a  long  time  for 
something  to  say,  and  finally  remarked  : 

*'I  see  your  father's  bug " 

*'  Sir  !"  she  said,  with  a  chilling  intonation, 
opening  her  blue  eyes  upon  him  with  a  glare 
that  curdled  his  life  blood. 

*'Isee,"  he  said,  in  a  tumult  of  terror,  "or 
rather,  I  saw  your  father's  old  buggy " 

"  Sir  !"  she  screamed,  rising  before  him  like 
an  inspired  sibyl,  *'sir  I" 

His  hair  stood  on  end.  He  also  rose,  picked 
up  his  glossy  silk  hat,  put  it  down  in  the  chair, 
and  sat  down  upon  it  ;  got  up  and  picked  it  up, 
and  stared  at  it  ;  turned  red  and  white  by 
turns,  and  felt  himself  growing  hot  all  over, 
and  generally  uncomfortable. 

"AYhy,"  he  stammered,  ''I  said  I  saw  your 
father's  old  buggy  bed- " 


THE   CHINESE  QUESTION.  89 

*'Sir!"  she  shrieked,  in  a  thorough  bass 
voice,  and  turning  an  icy,  marble  face  upon 
him,  turned  to  the  door. 

He  went  out  of  the  door  like  a  man  who  was 
going  to  be  hanged. 

''  By  jocks,"  he  said  to  himself,  on  the  way 
home,  while  he  tried  in  vain  to  smooth  out  the 
wrinkles  in  his  corrugated  hat,  "I  just  tried  to 
tell  her  that  I  saw  her  father's  old  buggy  bed 
getting  new  cushions  and  lining  fixed  in  it,  and 
the  dash-board  mended,  down  at  Jenkins'  car- 
riage shop,  and  she  got  mad,  and  acted  like  a 
crazy  woman.  Plague  on  the  old  buggy,  I 
don't  care  if  it  never  gets  fixed." 


THE  CHINESE   QUESTION. 

And  now^  the  Chinese  claim  that  the  tele- 
phone is  nearly  two  thousand  years  old,  having 
been  in  use  about  that  time  in  their  country. 
Oh,  pagans  with  the  almond  eyes,  there  is  some- 
thing that  is  older  than  the  telephone  !  Lying ! 
It  is  older  than  the  great  Chinese  wall.  It  is 
older  than  the  city  of  Pekin.  It  is  as  old  as  the 
first  Chinese  historian— and  about  as  reliable. 


90  A   TRUE   FABLE. 


A    TRUE    FABLE. 

A  Kansas  mule,  of  the  brindle  denomina- 
tion, was  standing  in  a  pasture  lield,  backed  up 
uncomfortably  close  to  a  mild-eyed  steer.  The 
mule  was  not  feeling  in  a  very  good  humor. 
He  had  lost  his  railroad  ticket,  or  had  a  note  to 
lift,  or  somebody  had  kicked  his  dog  or  some- 
thing. Anyhow,  he  was  cross,  and  feeling  just 
ready  to  do  something  mean  the  first  chance  he 
got.  By  and  by  a  careless  swish  of  the  Texan's 
tail  gave  him  the  longed-for  provocation,  and 
before  the  mule  got  his  heels  back  to  the 
ground,  the  Texan  thought  somebody  had  shot 
him  with  a  double-barreled  cannon.  And  then 
the  steer  slowly  turned  his  head,  and  opened 
wide  his  clear,  pensive  eyes,  and  without  swear- 
ing or  catching  his  breath  or  saying  a  word,  he 
just  lifted  one  of  his  hind  legs  about  eight  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  tapped  the  astonished 
mule,  with  his  cloven  hoof,  right  where  he 
lived.  And  the  mule  curled  up  in  a  knot  for  a 
second  and  just  gasped,  "Oh,  bleeding  heart !" 
And  then  he  leaned  up  against  a  tree  to  catch 
his  breath,   and  sat  down   on  the  ground  and 


STICKIXG  TO    IT.  91 

opened  his  moiith  to  get  air,  and  finally  he  lay- 
down  and  held  his  legs  up  in  the  air  and  said, 
in  a  husky  whisper,  that  if  he  could  only  die 
and  be  over  with  it,  he  would  be  glad.  But  he 
got  over  it  a  little,  after  awhile,  and  as  he  was 
limping  sadly  towards  the  fence,  trying  to  think 
just  how  it  happened,  and  wondering  just 
where  he  was  hit,  he  met  his  mother,  who 
noticed  his  rueful  countenance  and  his  painful 
locomotion. 

''Well,"  she  said,  "and  what's  the  matter 
with  you  ?" 

"Nothing,"  the  mule  said  faintly,  "oh, 
nothing.  I  have  just  kicked  an  insurance 
agent." 


STICKING  TO  IT. 

"Stick  to  one  thing,"  says  the  New  York 
Herald^  "  until  it  is  done,  and  well  done."  The 
man  who  wrote  that  must  have  been  inspired 
by  watching  the  tenacity  of  purpose  which  in- 
spires a  spoonful  of  tar  on  a  pine  board,  doing 
its  level  best  to  overshadow  the  bright  pros- 
perity of  the  after-guard  of  an  unwary  pair  of 
linen  pantaloons. 


92  FIAT     MOXEY. 


FIAT  MOXEY. 

The  other  day  Mr.  Middleiib  stopped  ar  a  gro- 
cery and  bought  some  onions,  giving  the  grocer 
a  two -dollar  bill.  Among  the  change  handed 
back  to  the  customer  was  an  old  one-dollar  bill. 
It  had  been  in  that  morning  for  kerosene  oil, 
and  there  was  just  a  dash  of  the  oil  on  it,  that 
had  been  spilled  in  the  morning.  Then  the 
grocer  had  laid  it  down  on  a  pile  of  codfish 
while  he  fixed  the  stopper  in  the  oil-can.  Then 
he  had  it  on  his  fingers  while  he  cut  off  a  couple 
of  pieces  of  cheese,  and  tlie  cheese  on  the  bill 
struggled  with  the  codli^h  and  kerosene  for  pre- 
eminence. Then  it  got  a  little  touch  of  mack- 
erel and  a  little  tincture  of  stale  egg  on  it,  and 
at  last  the  grocer  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket  along 
with  a  plug  of  tobacco,  and  finally,  when  Mr. 
Middlerib  got  it  with  his  onions,  he  held  it  to 
his  nose  once  or  twice,  sniffed  it  with  an  investi- 
gating air,  and  at  last  walked  out  of  the  store 
with  a  cheerful  countenance,  saying,  "By 
George,  we're  all  right  now.  Good  times  are 
here  again,  and  the  government  is  paying  one 
hundred  scents  on  the  dollar." 


ON   THE    RAIL. 

THE    WHIMS    OF     TRAVEL. 


!•«  ~ 


RHYMES   OX  THE  WIXG. 

-There  was  a  young  man  of  Coboes, 
Wore  tar  on  the  end  of  liis  nose  ; 

Wlien  asked  why  he  done  it, 

lit'  said  for  the  fun  it 
Afforded  the  men  of  Cohoes. 

-There  was  a  young  maid  of  Lancaster, 
Who  said,  "  I  will  wear  a  corn-plaster," 

But  instead  of  her  foot 

The  plaster  she  put 
On  her  nose,  and  the  street  Arabs  sassed  her. 

-There  was  a  young  fellow  of  Canton 
Much  given  to  ravin'  and  rantin'; 

With  his  clamorous  riot 

He  murdered  the  quiet 
That  hallowed  the  city  of  Canton. 

[93] 


94 


PREACHING    VS.    PRACTICE. 


THE    "  COUr.SE    OF    TRUE    LOVE." 

-There  was  a  young  man  of  Palmyra, 
Sat  down  alongside  of  liis  ISIyra  ; 

Tlicy  had  just  doused  the  glina, 
When  her  parent  came  in, 
And  the  young  man  achieved  his  Ilegira, 


PREACIIIXG   V.    PRACTICE. 


A  Sea  Cliff,  L.  I.,  audience  was  dreadfully 
shocked  last  Sunday  night.  Just  as  a  local 
temperance  leader  was  about  to  begin  his 
address,  he  leaned  too  closely  over  the  candle 
and  his  breath  caught  fire.  lie  afterward  ex- 
plained, however,  that  he  had  been  using  cam- 
phor for  the  toothache.  The  amendment  was 
accepted  and  the  talk  went  on. 


THE   START.  95 


THE  STAET. 

^VIIEX  you  go  to  a  railway  station  at  11 
o'clock  p.  :m.,  and  your  train  leaves  at  11:15  p. 
31.,  and  you  look  into  the  telegraph  office  and 
see  the  operator  lying  down  with  his  ear  at  the 
instrument,  reading  a  book — I  do  not  mean  that 
bis  ear  is  reading  a  book,  but  that  the  operator 
is  ;  and  then  you  see  a  bus  driver  stretched  out 
on  a  table  sound  asleep,  and  the  baggage  man 
spread  out  on  the  desk,  trying  to  go  to  sleep, 
then  you  can  make  up  your  mind  that  the  train 
is  an  honr  and  seventy-three  minutes  late. 

When  you  see  a  train  about  three  hundred 
and  twenty  yards  down  the  track,  with  the  rear 
end  of  the  train  pointed  toward  the  station,  and 
you  also  see  a  man  on  the  platform  with  a  valise 
in  one  hand  and  a  ticket  in  the  other,  waving 
his  burdened  arms  furiously,  and  incumberins: 
the  pure  air  with  rude,  ungrammatical,  but  evi- 
dently earnest  expressions,  you  may  depend 
upon  it,  that  that  man  and  that  train  desire  to 
effect  a  junction,  no  matter  whether  you  can 
understand  a  word  the  man  says  or  not.  That 
is,  the  man  wants  to  get   to   the  train  pretty 


96  THE   START. 

seriously.  The  train  doesn't  appear  to  care 
very  much  about  getting  to  the  man.  It  it  did, 
it  would  reverse  its  motion.  It  is  this  cool, 
stolid,  haughty  indifference  of  the  train  to  the 
man's  anguish  and  his  agonized  appeals,  that  is 
so  maddening  to  the  man. 

That  is  the  gall  of  being  left.  You  wouldn't 
really  mind  being  left,  so  much,  if  the  train 
went  away  from  you  rather  regretfully,  like. 
If  it  seemed  to  look  back  at  you  longingly,  as 
you  stand  wildly  gesticulating  and  howling  on 
the  platform,  if  it  seemed  to  be  tearing  the 
fibers  of  its  heart  to  go  away  from  you,  you 
might  endure  it.  But  to  have  it  get  up  and 
dust,  as  it  always  does,  to  turn  its  back  right 
squarely  in  your  face,  and  go  off  coughing  and 
barking  down  the  track,  just  as  completely  and 
sublimely  unconcerned  about  you  as  if  you  had 
no  existence— this  is  what  makes  you  rave. 
And  this,  also,  is  what  pleases  the  rest  of  the 
people  on  the  platform. 


**  ROGERS    AND   I.''  97 


**  ROGERS  AXD   I." 

I  THINK  the  Adjuster  is  the  most  observant 
man  I  ever  met  on  a  train.  He  sees  everj'thing, 
and  notes  the  peculiarities  of  the  people  he 
meets  before  he  has  seen  them.  We  sat  in  a 
car  together  up  in  Wisconsin  one  day,  and  he 
said, 

"Don't  you  always  notice,  in  every  car  in 
which  you  ride,  the  fool  that  always  sits 
directly  before  you,  and  always  opens  the 
window  every  time  the  engine  whistles,  and 
sticks  his  head  and  shoulders  out  to  see  what 
they  are  doing  at  the  station,  and  never  closes 
the  window  till  the  station  is  out  of  sight?" 

"Yes,  I  had  ;  and  he  never  saw  any  body  he 
knew  at  any  station  V 

"  Xever,"  said  the  Adjuster,  "  and  he  never 
sees  anything  any  body  is  doing  at  the  station, 
and  can  t  tell  the  name  of  the  station  while  he 
is  in  it." 

"And  always  scrapes  the  back  of  his  head 
against  the  sharp  edge  of  the  window  sash  when 
he  pulls  it  in,"  I  said,  "and  then  dismally 
rubs  his  head  while  he  turns  around  and  looks 


98 


suspiciously  at  you,  as  though  he  believes  you 
did  it,  and  did  it  on  purpose." 

"And  the  man  who  is  waiting  at  the  station 
to  see  the  train  come  in?"  continued  the  Ad- 
juster ;  "  the  man  with  butternut  overalls  tucked 
into  his  boots,  tawn^^  beard,  arms  crammed  into 
liis  pockets  up  to  the  elbows,  mouth  wide  open 
— you  never  miss  him  ;  when  you  go  down,  he 
is  standing  there  at  sunset ;  when  you  come 
back  at  sunrise,  he  is  waiting  for  you  ;  never 
sees  anybody  he  knows  get  off  the  train,  never 
sees  anybody  he  knows  get  on  ;  never  expects 
to  ;  would  be  astonished  to  death  if  he  should 
happen  to  see  an  acquaintance  come  or  go  ;  isn't 
paid  for  it,  but  it's  his  business.  Has  nothing 
else  in  the  world  to  do.  Is  always  there.  If 
the  train  comes  in  lifteen  minutes  ahead  of 
time,  he  has  made  allowance  for  it  and  has 
been  there  twenty  minutes  ;  if  the  train  is  four 
hours  late,  he  waits  for  it.  You  see  him  at 
nearly  every  station." 

"  Never  speaks  to  anybody,"  I  said. 

"Never,"  said  the  Adjuster,  "and  if  any- 
body speaks  to  him,  he  says  'Dunno.'  If  the 
baggageman  runs  over  him  with  a  truck,  he 
says   '  Huh  ! '   and  shrinks  up  a   little    closer 


99 

against  the  station,  but  lie  never  gets  out  of  the 
way/' 

"  And  do  you  remember  the  man  who  sits 
behind  you  and  whistles  ?  "  I  asked. 

'^And  when  he  gets  tired  of  whistling  in 
your  ear,  sings  bass?''  suggested  the  Adjuster. 

'^  And  never  whistles  or  sings  anything  that 
you  know." 

''Or  that  he  knows." 

"And  the  'masher,'  whose  breath  is  nearly 
as  bad  as  his  morals,  who  wants  to  tell  you  all 
about  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  merchant  who 
was  'just  dead  gone'  on  him  the  last  time  he 
went  over  this  road  ?" 

"And  the  man  behind  you  who  bites  off 
half  an  apple  at  one  bite,  and  then,  while 
crunching  it,  puts  his  chin  on  your  shoulder 
and  tries  to  talk  to  you  about  the  weather  and 
crops?" 

"And  the  man  who  comes  into  the  car  at 
the  front  door,  walks  clear  back  and  out  on  the 
rear  platform,  looking  at  each  one  of  a  dozen 
empty  seats,  hunting  for  a  good  one,  and  then 
turns  back  to  lind  every  last  seat  taken  by  the 
people  who  came  in  after  him  f 

"  And  have  you  never  seen  the  girl  get  on  at 


100 


some  country  station,"  said  the  Adjuster, 
*' fixed  up  mighty  nice  for  that  town,  the  belle 
of  the  village,  dressed  in  more  colors  than  you  * 

can  crowd  into  a 
chronio,  half  the  toAvn 
down  at  the  station 
to  see  her  off ;  she 
walks  across  the  plat- 
form, feeling  just  a 
little  too  rich  to  look 
at,  comes  into  the  car 
with  her  head  up  and 
plumes  flying,  ex- 
pecting to  set  every 
woman  in  that  car 
wild  with  envy  as  she 
walks  down  the  aisle  ; 
she  opens  the  door 
and  sees  a  car  full  of 
Chicago  girls,  dressed 
in  the  rich,  quiet  ele- 
gance of  city  girls  in 
their  traveling  costumes,  and  see  how  she  drops 
like  a  shot  into  the  first  seat,  the  one  nearest 
the  stove,  and  looks  straight  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  never  looks  anywhere  else,  and  never 


THE  CirN'OSURE  OF  ALL  EYES. 


101 


shakes  her  plumes  again  while  she  stays  in  the 
car?" 

''And  the  man  who  wants  to  talk,"  I  said ; 
''the  man  who  would  probably  die  if  he 
couldn'  t  talk  five  minutes  to  every  one  he  rides 
with  ;  who  glares  hungrily  around  the  car  until 
his  glance  resfs  on  the  man  whom  he  thinks  is 
too  feeble  to  resist  him,  and  then  pounces  down 
on  him  and  opens  the  intellectual  feast  by  ask- 
ing him  how  the  weather  is,  down  his  way  ;  the 
man  who  is  always  most  determined  to  talk 
when  you  are  the  sleepiest,  or  when  you  want 
to  read,  or  to  think,  or  just  sit  and  look  out  of 
the  car  window,  and  enjoy  your  own  idle,  pleas- 
ant, vagrant  day-dreams?" 

"And  the  man,"  said  Rogers,  "who  gets  on 
the  train  and  stares  at  every  man  in  the  car 
before  he  sits  down,  and  stands  and  holds  the 
door  open  while  he  stares  ;  who  always  carries 
an  old-fashioned,  oil-cloth  carj^et-bag  with  him, 
as  wide  and  deep  as  a  fire  screen,  and  before 
he  sits  down,  he  takes  that  carpet  bag  by  the 
bottom,  rolls  it  up  into  a  close  roll,  and  puts  it 
in  the  rack  ?  It  is  always  dead  empty.  When 
he  leaves  home,  he  never  jouts  a  rag  or  a  thread 
or  a  button  in  it.     When  he  comes  back  it  is 


102  ^'kogeks  and  I." 

emptier  than  it  was  when  he  went  away.  It 
never  had  anything  in  it,  that  he  knows  of, 
since  it  was  owned  in  his  family,  but  lie  will 
never  travel  without  it." 

*'And  the  other  man,"  I  said,  "who  carries 
nothing  in  his  carpet-bag  bnt  lunch,  and  eats 
all  the  way  from  Chicago  to  Cairo?" 

"And  the  man,"  he  said,  "who  rides  on  a 
pass,  and  stands  on  familiar  terms  with  the 
company,  and  calls  the  brakeman  Johnny?" 

"And  the  man,"  I  said,  "who  is  riding  on 
a  pass  for  the  first  time,  and  stands  up  and 
holds  his  hat  in  his  hand  when  he  sees  the  con- 
ductor approaching,  and  says  'sir'  to  him  as 
lie  answers  the  official's  questions,  and  is  gen- 
erally more  respectful  to  him  than  he  is  ever 
going  to  be  again  ?" 

"And  the  man,"  he  said,  "who  walks 
through  the  entire  length  of  an  empty  coach 
looking  for  a  seat,  and  then  goes  back  and 
sits  down  in  the  first  one,  nearest  the 
door?" 

"And  the  man,"  I  said,  "who  always  gets 
left?" 

"And  the  man,"  he  said,  "who  loses  bis 
ticket  ?" 


A.   MIX^'ESOTA   POET.  103 

And  thus,  with  pleasant  comments  on  our 
fellow  passengers,  did  we  beguile  the  weary 
hours. 


A  MixxEsoTA  poet  tunes  his  sounding  lyre 
to  harvest  notes,  and  sings  :— 

There's  music  in  the  sough  of  the  wind, 
There's  grace  in  the  waving  grain  ; 

Broad  acres  a-tint  with  the  day-god's  gold, 
In  their  ri[)ening  oriflanime. 

Now,  why  couldn't  he  go  right  on,  without 
racking  his  brain  for  new  rhymes,  and  sing : — 

Ready  the  reaper  stands  ;  he  lists 
To  the  thresher's  clattering  hum  ; 

And  he  waves  aloft  in  his  brawny  fists 
The  harvest's  oriflura. 

Here  and  there  in  the  reckless  world 
Stocks  go  up  and  stocks  go  down. 

But  care  from  his  happy  heart  is  hurled 
By  the  sight  of  the  orifloun. 

And  when  at  eve,  at  the  set  of  sun, 

Swiftly  he  hastens  to  his  home. 
His  day  is  spent,  his  work  is  done. 

And  he  has  no  use  for  an  oriflome. 


104  THE   TKAVELIXG    '' SICK    MAN." 


THE  TRAVELING   "SICK  MAN." 

Do  you  know,  a  man  likes  to  be  ill?  Likes 
to  have  a  wasting  fever,  a  terrible  headache, 
or  a  thoroughbred  agne-chill,  with  parent  vi- 
brator attachment.  I  don't  think  he  likes  it 
pretty  much  at  the  time;  the  circus  isn't  so 
interesting  while  the  play  is  on,  but  he  does 
enjoy  it  after  it  is  all  over,  and  he  can  torture 
his  friends  with  the  doleful  narrative  of  his 
sufferings.  How  some  men  do  love  to  talk 
about  their  physical  ailments  ! 

The  young  man  sitting  just  in  front  of 
me  has  been  ill.  He  lay,  as  I  learn  from 
the  narrative  he  is  pouring  into  the  ears  of 
his  weary-looking  friend,  like  Peters  wife's 
mother,  sick  of  a  fever.  It  was  no  ordinary 
fever,  either.  It  came  upon  him,  he  tells  his 
friends,  as  a  low  type  of  typhoid,  but  soon 
developed  into  a  malignant  typhus,  and  then 
the  struggle  for  life  began.  For  twenty-two 
days  and  nights  his  friends  and  watchers  never 
left  his  bedside.  The  point  of  the  most  intense 
pain  was  located  right  above  the  left  eye.  The 
young  man  points  it  out  with  his  finger,  and 


THE   TRAVELING    '' SICK    MAX."  105 

his    friend    looks   at    the    place   curiously,    as 
though  he  expected  to  find  a  label  on  it.     The 
young  man  is  growing  rapidly  worse.     He  has 
got  into  the  medicines.     He  is  taking  a  drop  of 
digitalis  ;   now  he  is  taking  three  drops  ;   now 
he. has  just  taken  six.     He  will  never  get  well, 
I  know.     His  pulse  is  103,  and  the  temperature 
of  his  body  is  128  degrees.     Xow  he  is  talking 
medical  latin.     How  a  man  does  love  to  dabble 
in   the    lore   of    the    physician.     His    pulse  is 
coming  up,  and  has  reached  118.     I  know  he 
will  die.     The  pain  over  his  left  eye  is  increas- 
ing in  severity,  and  shooting  pains  are  tearing 
up  and  down  his  back.     Now  a  new  pain  has 
set  in,  in  both  knees.     Xow  his  feet  are  cold, 
and  his  dose  of  digitalis  is  increased   to   ten 
drops,  and  he  is  taking  two  doses  every  three 
minutes.     The    temperature   of    his  body   sud- 
denly falls  to  107.     His  physician,  standing  at 
the   bedside   with  an  American   hunting-case, 
cylinder  escapement,  full-jeweled,  low-pressure 
silver  watch  in  his  hand,  tells  him  that  if  the 
temperature  of  the  body  goes  down  to  105,  and 
stays  there,  he  will  die.     Xow  his  pulse  reaches 
120.     The   temperature  of   his   body  has  gone 
down  to  105K.     The  pain  over  his  left  eye  has 


106  THE    TRAVELIXG 

received  reinforcements,  and  is  pounding  away 
like  a  trip-hammer.  He  is  suffocating  with 
a  dull,  heavy  heat,  but  cannot  "prespiah." 
More  watches  are  sent  for.  He  counts  up  his 
insurance.  It  amounts  to  87,000.  Two  more 
drops  are  added  to  his  dose  of  digitalis,  which 
he  now  takes  every  time  the  clock  ticks.  His 
hair  is  beginning  to  fall  off  ;  his  eyes  are  heavy  ; 
the  end  of  his  nose  turns  cold,  his  pulse  falls, 
he  gasps  for  breath,  he  d 

No,  by  St.  George,  he  doesn't!  Suddenly, 
right  in  the  pain  over  the  left  eyebrow,  he 
"prespires."  He  is  saved.  The  perspiration 
spreads  all  over  him.     He  lives. 

Merciful  heavens !  Can  it  be  ?  Yes,  the 
truth  must  be  told.  It  is  his  friend,  his  weary, 
uncomplaining,  listening  friend,  who  dies. 


A  NICE  Dubuqie  man,  having  occasion  to 
use  the  expression,  ''bowels  of  compassion," 
hesitated,  hemmed  and  hawed,  and  finally  sub- 
stituted "intestines,"  and  then  wondered  what 
everybody  was  grinning  at. 


THE  MAN  WHO  UAD  LETTER3  FOR  HIS  DOG.    107 


THE  MAIS'  WHO  HAD  LETTERS  FOR  HIS 
DOG. 

When  a  man  has  once  fallen  a  slave  to  the 
dog  habit,  when  he  has  become  addicted  to  a 
dog,  when  he  drags  a  dog  around  after  him, 
into  cars,  into  omnibuses,  into  society,  all  the 
Murphy  movements  in  the  world  cannot  reform 
that  man.  And  there  are  such  men.  Oh,  mil- 
lions of  'em. 

One  night,  when  I  was  coming  West  from 
New  York,  a  bridal  party  boarded  the  train  at 
Elizabeth,  New  Jersey.  I  heard  laughter  and 
weeping,  and  I  knew  that  laughter  and  weep- 
ing never  went  well  together,  except  at  wed- 
dings. So  I  said,  speaking  to  myself — the  only 
man  who  never  contradicts  me  when  I  tell  lies — 
*'Iwill  have  a  look  at  the  young  people."  I 
went  out  and  looked. 

I  saw  the  bridegroom,  happy,  laughing, 
fussy  as  an  old  hen  with  her  last  lone  chicken, 
holding  a  black  and  tan  dog  tenderly  in  his 
arms,  and  clutching  his  bride  by  the  elbow,  to 
help  her  on  the  car.     The  brakeman  shouted  : 

"  Hold  on  ;  take  that  dog  to  the  baggage  car." 


108   THE  MAX  WHO  HAD  LETTERS  FOR  HIS  DOG. 

Dismay,  consternation,  terror,  came  out  and 
sat  all  over  that  young  man's  face,  but  it 
brightened  up  again  with  a  happy  thought. 
He  dropped  his  bride's  arm,  and  folded  both 
arms  about  the  dog  of  his  heart. 

"  Xo,  you  don't  I"  he  shouted;  "no,  you 
don't.  I've  got  letters  for  that  dog.  Fve  got  a 
letter  for  that  dog  from  the  superintendent  of 
the  division.     This  dog  goes  with  me  I" 

And  he  danced  up  and  down  the  platform 
with  excitement,  while  the  brakeman  helped 
his  bride  on  the  train,  and  then  the  young  hus- 
band followed,  clinging  to  that  precious  dog. 

Now,  do  you  know  I  wanted  to  take  that 
girl's  hands  (having  previously  sent  a  postal 
card  home  for  permission),  and  say  to  her : 

"Dear  young  woman,  confide  in  me.  Allow 
me  to  collar  your  husband.  Then  do  you  brace 
yourself  against  the  side  of  the  car,  and  kick 
him  so  high  that  all  the  dogs  in  America  will 
have  starved  to  death  before  he  comes  down." 

But  I  didn't  say  anything.  But  when  the 
party  came  back  into  the  sleeper,  then  there  was 
a  scene.  The  porter  looked  at  the  dog  uneasily, 
and  said  he  "  allowed  it  was  kind  of  onregular, 
totin'  dogs  into  de  parlor  cars."     And  whatever 


THE  MAX  WHO  HAD  LETTERS  EOR  HIS  DOG.    109 


misgivings  he  may  have  had  on  the  subject 
were  speedily  cleared  by  a  passenger — a  testy 
old  gentleman  with  a  back  as  broad  as  a  county 
atlas,  and  a  breath  so  short  that  he  breathed 
three  times  in  speaking  a  word  of  two  syllables 
— an  old  gentleman  with  the  baldest  head  that 
ever  mocked  hair  oil,  a  head  with  a  fringe  of 
upright,  bristly  hair  all  round  it.  He  stood  in 
the  aisle,  as  he  heard  the  dog  mentioned,  step- 
ping out  from  behind  the  curtains  in  the  attire 
of  a  man  who  is  not 
going  into  society, 
immediately.  His 
bare  feet  spread  out 
on  the  floor,  his 
suspenders  dangled 
down  behind  him, 
his  fat  face  glowed 
with  rage,  and  he 
roared  out  to  the 
porter : 

"Out  with  that 
dog.   No  dogs  sleep 
where  I  do.     I  ain't  used  to  it  and  I  won't  have 
it.     Trundle  him  out. 


THE    DOG    OF   HIS    HEART. 


"Hold  on  there,"   cried  the  confident  hus- 


110   THE  MAX  WHO  HAD  LETTERS  FOR  HIS  DOG. 

band,  "that  dog's  all  right.  Tve  got  let- 
ters  ' ' 

"Blast  your  letters,"  roared  the  old  party. 
"The  whole  United  States  post-office  depart- 
ment can't  crowd  a  dog  in  on  us.  Tell  you, 
young  man,  it  ain't  right  ;  it  ain't  decent,  and 
by  gum,  it  ain't  safe.  Body  of  a  man  in  the 
ba2:i?ai]:e-car  now,  on  this  verv  train,  that  was 
bit  by  a  lap-dog  two  weeks  ago  while  he  was 
asleep,  and  died  just  eleven  days  afterward. 
Country's  full  of  mad  dogs." 

This  was  a  lie,  about  the  dead  man,  but  it 
woke  everybody  in  the  car,  set  all  the  women  to 
screaming,  and  armed  i:)ublic  sentiment  against 
the  dog. 

"But  I  tell  you  the  dog  isn't  mad,"  per- 
sisted the  owner,  "and  he'll  have  to  stay  in 
here.  I  have  letters  from  the  superintendent  of 
the  division " 

"Blast  the  superintendent!"  roared  the 
asthmatic  passenger,  triumphantly,  "he's  got 
nothing  to  do  with  the  sleeping  car.  Take  the 
dog  into  a  day  coach  and  shut  him  up  in  a 
wood-box.  Throw  him  overboard.  I  don't 
care  what  you  do  with  him,  but  he  can't  stay 
here." 


THE  MAX  WHO  HAD  LETTERS  FOR  HIS  DOG.    Ill 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  pleaded  the  young 
man. 

*' Don't  want  to  hear  nothing!"  yelled  the 
fat  passenger,  "  I  don't  travel  with  a  menagerie. 
Nobody  wants  your  dog  in  here  !" 

"  Xo  !  Xobody  !  Xobody  wants  him!" 
came  in  heart\^,  fearless  chorus  from  the  other 
berths,  the  chorus  carefully  and  modestly  keep- 
ing itself  out  of  sight,  so  as  not  to  detract  from 
the  power  of  the  solo,  who  was  gasping  out  the 
most  terrific  denunciations  of  all  dogs  in  gen- 
eral, and  especially  this  one  particular  dog. 

''But  my  dog ''  the  young  man  pleaded. 

"Devil  take  your  dog,  sir,"  the  old  passen- 
ger would  gasp,  "what  is  your  dog  or  any 
man's  dog  to  my  comfort  ?  I  say  I  shan't  sleep 
with  him  in  this  car.     He  can't  stay  here.'' 

Well,  the  upshot  of  it  was,  the  dog  had  to 
emigrate  into  a  day  coach,  and  it  is  a  gospel 
fact  that  that  man,  just  married,  with  the 
prettiest  bride  that  has  been  seen  in  this  coun- 
try (since  eight  years  ago)  didn't  know  whether 
to  sit  in  the  day  coach  and  hold  his  dog  all 
night,  or  stay  back  in  the  sleeper  with  his  wife. 
He  trotted  in  and  out,  and  every  time  he  came 
in,    the  glistening  head   of  the  fat   passenger 


112  A   TWILIGHT  IDYL. 

would  poke  out  from  between  the  curtains,  and 
he  would  meet  the  reproachful  glances  of  the 
bereaved  young  man  with  a  stonj^  glare  that 
would  have  detected  the  presence  of  that  dog 
Lad  the  young  man  even  attempted  to  smuggle 
him  into  the  car  by  shutting  him  up  in  a  watch- 
case. 


A  TWILIGHT  IDYL. 
They  were  sitting  on  the  front  porch  enjoy- 
ing the  evening  air,  and  gazing  at  the  canopy  of 
heaven  thickly  studded  with  glittering  stars. 
"IIow  incomprehensible,''  exclaimed  Mr. 
Posonby,  "is  the  vastness  of  nature!  Each 
glittering  orb  of  the  myriads  we  now  behold  is 
a  sun,  more  glorious  than  our  own,  and  the 
center  of  a  grand  planetary  system,  and  their 
centers,  in  their  turn,  revolve  around  other  cen- 
ters still  more  magnificent.  How  wonderful  are 
the   eternal  laws  which  hold  this   universe   of 

worlds   in   their  unchanging  orbits,    and " 

''Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Posonby,  "and  the  man 
didn't  bring  up  half  enough  ice  to-day,  and  I'm 
just  certain  that  cold  corn  beef  will  spoil  before 
morning.  Did  you  order  those  salt  cod-fish 
to-day  ?" 


A   CURIOUS   STRANGER.  113 


A  CURIOUS   STRANGER. 

When  the  delegate  from  the  Hawkey e  was 
traveling  in  the  East,  reaping  the  winter  harvest 
of  shekels  that  the  cultured  people  of  that  sec- 
tion of  the  country  are  wont  to  shower  upon  the 
Western  lecturer,  brimful  of  information— and 
asthma,  if  he  travels  much  in  Maine— he  met  a 
good  many  curious  persons,  who  were  not  abso- 
lutely hedged  in  and  hermetically  sealed  by  the 
shell  of  reserve  which  inclosed  the  good  people 
of  Boston,  when  the  stranger  approached  them  ; 
a  reserve  that,  as  to  Bostonians,  only  mantles 
a  wealth  of  good  fellowship :    delightful  com- 
panionship, warm,  broad-hearted  humanity  un- 
derlies this  reserve,  when  a  closer  acquaintance 
has  worn  it  through,  and  this  rather  repellent 
reserve,   which    the  stranger  is  almost  always 
apt  to  misunderstand  and  misconstrue,  is  the 
characteristic  of  all  Eastern  people.     Once  in 
awhile,  however,  you  meet  an  Eastern  man  who 
is  as  charmingly  free  from  any  cold,  unsociable 
reserve  as  you  could  wish. 

While  on  my  way  to  Bath,  a  ship-carpenter 
got   on   the   train  at    Portland   and   sat   down 
8 


114  A    CUrwIOUS   STRAXGER. 

beside  me.  Pretty  soon,  after  an  off-hand  re- 
mark about  the  weather,  he  said  : 

"Does  this  car  run  right  through  to  Bath'i'' 

I  said  I  didn't  know,  I  believed  it  did,  but  I 
never  was  on  this  road  before. 

Then  "  the  s:ranger"  stood  revealed  in  his 
accent  and  his  confession  of  ignorance,  and  the 
ship-carpenter  cast  off  all  reserve,  put  on  the 
pumps  and  immediately  applied  the  suction. 

*'Had  I  never  been  in  this  country  before?" 

*' Never;  I  had  never  been  in  New  England 
until  a  week  ago." 

Then  he  "wanted  to  know." 

I  made  no  objection. 

Then  he  reckoned  I  was  going  to  Brunswick 
or  Bath? 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  was." 

*'  Which  one  ?"  he  asked. 

"Bath." 

It  was  none  of  his  business,  he  said,  but  he 
reckoned  I  was  going  to  Bath  on  some  kind  of 
speculation  ? 

"No,"  I  said,  "no  speculation  ;  I  was  going 
there  on  a  legitimate  deal." 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"On  regular  business,"  I  said. 


A    GUEIOUS   STKAXGER.  115 

It  was  none  of  his  business  again,  but  what 
w:  s  my  business  at  Bath  ? 

I  was  going  there  to  talk. 

Yes  ;  and  who  was  I  going  to  talk  to  1 

To  anybody  who  would  listen  to  me. 

Oh,  yes  ;  I  had  something  to  sell  them  ? 

I  might  sell  an  audience,  I  said  ;  I  had  done 
such  a  thing. 

Yes;  well,  of  course  if  I  didn't  want  to  tell 
my  business  it  was  all  right.  There  wan't  no 
harm  in  asking.     Was  I  from  Boston  1 

No. 

It  wan't  none  of  his  business  again,  but  I 
might  be  from  New  Y^ork  ? 

No. 

If  it  wan' t  a  secret  where  was  I  from  ? 

Burlington. 

Oh,  yes  ;  up  in  Vermont. 

No. 

^  *  No  ?"  A  long  pause.  ' '  Didn'  1 1  say  Bur- 
lington?" 

Y^es. 

*'But  it  wan't  Burlington,  Vermont  1" 

No. 

''  Ha  ;  there  was  another  Burlington,  then?" 

Yes. 


116  A   CUEIOUS   STRANGER. 

Where  \ 

*'In  Nebraska." 

Eagerly,  ''And  I  was  from  Burlington,  Ne- 
braska, then?" 

Oh,  no. 

Dejectedly,  ''Then  there  was  a  Burlington 
somewhere  else  still  ^" 

Yes. 

*' Where?" 

AVisconsin. 

"  What  jjart  of  Wisconsin  ?" 

Southern,  not  far  from  Elkhorn. 

Cautiously,  "And  was  that  the  Burlington  I 
was  from  ?" 

Oh,  no. 

*'  Ha  ;  what  Burlington  might  I  be  from  ?" 

Burlington,  Iowa. 

"That  was  my  home  ?" 

Yes. 

"  What  did  I  do  when  I  was  home  ?" 

Played  with  the  baby. 

"  Yes,  but  what  was  my  business  ?" 

Wrote  for  the  newspapers. 

"  What  newspapers  ?" 

Hawkeye. 


ARCII^OLOGICAL    WOXDER.  117 

"Ha  ;  then  I  was  the  man  that  was  going  to 
lecture  in  Bath  to-night  T' 

Yes. 

Then  he  "wanted  to  know,"  but  without 
saying  what,  went  into  another  seat,  curled  up 
and  went  to  sleep,  and  I  drew  on  my  lap  folio  a 
pen-picture  of  my  inquisitor,  that  was  to  serve 
as  a  fateful  warning  to  the  next  Eastern  in- 
quisitor who  dared  to  dead-head  an  Iowa  lec- 
turer out  of  twenty-five  cents'  worth  of  valuable 
occidental  information. 


The  other  day  a  Burlington  man,  while 
digging  a  well,  found  a  carving  fork,  sixty-three 
feet  below  the  surface  of  the  ground.  The  fork 
was  very  much  the  same  style  as  those  of 
modern  make,  and  was  very  little  marred  or 
damaged,  beyond  a  crack  in  the  fore  handle. 
The  question  is,  how  did  it  ever  come  so  far 
below  the  ground?  Answer:  the  man's  wife 
threw  it  at  him  when  he  went  down  to  dig, 
because  he  refused  to  buy  her  a  new  hat  to 
wear  to  the  circus. 


118  STUFFING    A    STRANGER. 


STUFFI^'G  A    STRANGER. 

A  GENTLEMAN  lias  just  sat  clown  beside  me, 
and  as  he  measures  four  and  a  half  feet  from 
tip  to  tip  of  the  elbows,  he  has  to  lay  one  elbow 
in  the  pliant  hollow  of  my  arm.  It  is  not  easy 
to  write  and  hold  a  man's  elbow  at  the  same 
time,  and  I  will  not  continue  the  effort.  In 
this  instance  the  labor  is  rendered  doubly  diffi- 
cult by  the  burning  anxiety  which  the  gentle- 
man feels,  to  know  what  I  am  writing  about. 
And  every  time  he  leans  forward  to  see,  he 
bores  into  my  anguish-stricken  ribs  with  his 
elbow.  When  I  put  away  this  manuscript 
he  is  going  to  ask  me  questions.  Then  I  will 
take  my  revenge  upon  him.  I  will  lie  to 
him.  Man  of  the  elbow,  stranger  of  the  anx- 
ious mind,  prepare  to  be  misled  and  deceived, 
prepare  to  be  stuffed  plumb  full. 

Well,  I  stuffed  him  ! 

^'  Much  of  a  place,  your  town  V'  he  asked. 

*'0h,  yes,"  I  said,  with  the  matter-of-course 
carelessness  of  a  citizen  of  the  great  western  me- 
tropolis, ''about  forty-five  thousand,  I  guess." 

The  man  eyed  me  with  keen,  awakening  in- 
terest.    ''So  big  as  that  V  he  said. 


STUFFING    A.    STRANGER.  119 

I  nodded,  and  he  present!}^  said,  "  Well,  I 
had  no  idea  there  was  such  a  large  city  in 
Iowa.  State  must  be  pretty  well  settled  up,  I 
reckon  V ' 

I  said,  "Yes,  it  was.  Some  portions  of  it 
pretty  wild,  though." 

"Any  large  game  in  the  State?" 

"Herds  of  it,"  I  said.  "  I  killed  deer  last 
winter  not  two  miles  from  the  Burlington 
court  house." 

I  pacified  my  conscience  for  this  lie  by  ex- 
plaining to  that  rebellious  and  vociferous  mon- 
itor that  there  was  no  Burlington  court  house, 
that  it  was  burned  down  seven  years  ago,  and 
the  county  was  waiting  until  it  could  buy  a 
second-hand  court  house  for  $1.75,  before  re- 
placing it.  Tiierefore  I  could  truthfully  say 
that  I  killed  all  the  deer  that  came  within  two 
miles  of  our  court  house. 

"I  want  to  know!"  the  native  exclaimed. 

"Do  you,  though ?"  thought  I,  "  then  Til  tell 
you."  And  so  I  went  on,  "Why,  the  wolves, 
only  two  years  ago,  made  a  raid  right  into 
Burlington  and  killed  all  the  chickens  on  South 
Hill." 

Conscience  raised  a  terrible  protest  at  this, 


120  STUFFING    A    STRANGER. 

but  I  hushed  it  up  too  quick,  by  citing  the  well- 
known  case  of  Meigs  Schenck's  wolf  that  got 
loose  and  in  one  single  summer  night  ate  up 
everything  on  South  Hill  that  wore  feathers. 
The  native  looked  astonished 
and  doubly  interested. 
"Any  Indians?"  he  said. 
"Land,  yes,''  I  told  him, 
yawning  wearily,  as  one  who 
SITTING  Bui.L  FINISH-  tallvS    of    old.    Stale    things. 

INQ  niS  EDUCATION.  •  -r^     i ,  -,  -, 

"Sitting  Bull  was  educated 
at  the  Baptist  Collegiate  Institute,  in  Burl- 
ington, and  was  expelled  for  trying  to  scalp 
Professor  Wortman  with  a  horse-shoe  magnet." 

"You  don't  tell  me  !''  exclaimed  the  native, 
in  wild  amazement.  By  this  time  I  was  per- 
fectly reckless,  and  told  conscience  to  keep  its 
mouth  shut  and  give  me  a  chance. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said.  "Yellow  Wolf's  old  med- 
icine lodge  is  still  standing,  right  out  on  West 
Hill.  The  Indians  come  into  the  city  very  fre- 
quently, tearing  through  the  streets  on  their 
wiry  little  ponies." 

"Ever  have  any  trouble  with  them?"  the 
man  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said,  carelessly,  "  the  citizens  sel- 


STUFFING   A   STRANGER.  121 

dom  do.  The  cow-boys,  who  come  up  from 
Texas  with  cattle,  hate  them  terribly,  and  oc- 
casionally drop  one  of  them  in  the  streets  Just 
for  revolver  practice.  But  nobody  else  inter- 
feres in  their  fights." 

*'I  suppose,"  the  man  said,  "you  all  carry 
revolvers  strapped  around  you,  out  there?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "of  course.  We  have 
to  ;  a  man  never  knows  when  he  is  going  to  have 
trouble  with  somebody,  and  in  case  of  any  little 
misunderstanding,  it  wouldn't  do  for  a  fellow 
not  to  be  heeled." 

I  think  the  man  shuddered  a  little.  Then, 
fearing  he  might  ask  to  look  at  my  revolver,  I 
casually  remarked  that  I  never  carried  my 
barkers  when  I  came  East. 

He  said  no,  he  supposed  not.  Tlien  he 
looked  out  of  the  window  a  long  time  and  said 
nothing.  Finally  I  asked  him  in  what  part  of 
Maine  he  made  his  home.  He  looked  up  at 
me  in  surprise. 

"Me?"  he  said,  "Lord,  I  don't  live  in  this 
rock  patch.  I'm  only  on  here  visiting  some 
relatives." 

In  a  feeble  voice  I  asked  him  where  did  he 
live,  then? 


122  "l   WOULD   SAY    YOU   LIED." 

The  man  yawned,  and  again  looked  listlessly 
out  of  the  window. 

*'0h,"  he  said,  "I  live  on  a  farm  just  out 
by  Leffler's  ;  about  six  miles  out  of  Burling- 
ton.    I  wish  I  was  back  there  now." 

So  did  I.  So  did  I.  I  wished  he  had  never 
left  there. 

We  didn't  talk  together  any  longer.  Short- 
ly after  that  the  weather  changed,  the  car  grew 
very  cold,  and  I  went  into  the  smoking  car  to 
look  for  a  fire. 


*' Suppose,"  said  a  brow-beating  Clarinda 
lawyer  to  a  witness  he  was  trying  to  badger, 
** suppose  I  should  tell  you  I  could  bring  a 
dozen  men  of  your  town  to  this  court  room  w^ho 
would  say  they  would  not  believe  you  on  oath, 
what  would  you  say?"  And  calmly  the  witness 
made  him  reply,  "I  would  say  you  lied."  A 
gentle  smile  diffused  itself  all  over  the  court 
room,  like  a  lump  of  butter  on  a  hot  cake,  and 
the  unruffled  witness  stepped  down. 


THE  EELEXTLESS  BAGGAGE-ilAN.  123 

THE   RELEXTLESS   BAGGAGE-MAX. 

Aftp:r  lecturing  there,  I  left  Lancaster  at 
midnight  to  hurry  through  to  Xorth  Attleboro, 
Massachusetts,  by  the  next  night.  I  checked 
my  valises.  They  had  to  be  re-checked  at  Xew 
York.  And  they  were  re-checked.  And  right 
here  permit  me  to  make  a  statement. 

The  baggage-man  who  was  on  duty  at  the 
Xew  York,  Xew  Haven  &  Hartford  baggage- 
room  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Satur- 
day, December  21,  1878,  will  deceive  passengers. 
He  lied  to  me. 

I  saw  my  baggage  re-checked,  and  got  the 
checks  in  my  hand.     Then  I  said  : 

''  You'll  get  it  on  this  8:05  train  ?" 

*'Xo,"  the  baggage-man  said,  "I  can't." 

*'Then,"  I  wailed,  ^'give  it  to  me  ;  I  can 
carry  it,  and  I  must  have  it  on  this  train." 
For  it  was  only  heavy  hand  baggage. 

But  the  baggage-man  would  not.  He  only 
said  incredulously  : 

**Xo,  if  you  can  get  on  that  train,  your 
baggage  will  be  on  before  you  are." 

"Sure?"  I  asked  anxiously,  for  I  had  my 
misgivings. 


124  THE   KELEXTLESS   BAGGAGE-MAN. 

*'Yes,"  he  insisted,  "lean  get  the  baggage 
on  before  you  can  get  on." 

"All   right,"    I    shouted,    "don't   fail    me,  j 
now." 

I  got  on  the  train  and  sat  down.  I  got  up 
and  went  out  on  the  platform  and  looked  for 
the  baggage-man.  Over  all  the  wide  expanse 
of  platform  he  was  not  visible.  I  thought  he 
was  either  terribly  slow  or  had  been  marvel- 
ously  rapid.     The  train  pulled  out. 

That  baggage-man,  after  I  left  him,  sat  down 
and  played  a  couple  of  games  of  checkers  on  a 
trunk.  Then  I  think  he  went  to  sleep.  Then, 
I  believe,  he  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes,  looked  at 
my  valises,  kicked  them  to  see  if  there  was 
anything  in  them  that  would  break,  and  said, 
dreamily  and  Richard  Grant  Whitely, 

"There's  that  feller's  baggage  that  wanted 
'em  to  go  to  Providence  on  the  8:05." 

Measureless  liar!  by  his  wicked  deceit  he 
sent  me  to  North  Attleboro  with  just  about  as 
much  of  a  wardrobe  as  a  tramp.  And  I  never 
got  my  baggage  till  the  Monday  morning  fol- 
lowing. Why  did  he  lie  to  me?  Why  didn't 
lie  give  me  my  baggage,  when  he  knew  in  his 
vicious,  depraved,  prevaricating  heart  that  he 


^oxs.  125 

wasn't  going  to  try  to  get  my  baggage  on  that 
train  ?  We  do  these  things  better  in  the  West. 
Wliy,  on  the  old  reliable  Chicago,  Burlington 
&  Quincy  Railroad,  from  the  time  the  first  spike 
was  driven,  there  never  was  a  piece  of  baggage 
lost  or  left,  there  was  never  a  passenger  misled 
or  deceived,  there  never  was  a  train  reached  a 
station  off  schedule  time  but  one,  and  it  came 
in  ten  seconds  ahead,  and  siuce  Potter  has  been 
superintendent,  a  man  s  baggage  always  gets 
to  the  hotel  thirty  minutes  ahead  of  him  and 
sxDreads  out  his  clean  linen  to  air  for  him. 


Some  Indian  mounds,  supposed  to  be  three 
or  four  thousand  years  old  or  so,  were  recently 
opened  near  Beloit,  Wisconsin,  and  the  first 
thing  the  excavators  dug  out  were  a  couple  of 
railroad  passes  and  an  autograph  album.  Thus 
we  see  the  early  dawn  of  remote  civilization 
mingles  with  the  gray  shadows  of  the  seons 
that — of  the  aeons — the  seons — the  gray  shadows 
of  the  aeons,  ^ons.  Gray  shadows  of  the 
aeons. 


126  RAILROADING  DOWN  EAST. 


KAILROADIXG   DOWN  EAST. 

Railroading  is  exciting  business  in  this 
country.  On  most  of  the  New  England  roads 
trains  run  both  ways  every  fifteen  seconds.  On 
busy  days  they  put  on  a  few  extras,  and  the 
freights  never  count  for  anything.  When  you 
come  from  Providence  to  Foxboro\  not  ''east" 
or  "west"  or  "north"  or  "south"  or  "mid- 
dle" or  "upper"  or  "lower"  or  "old"  or 
"new"  Foxboro',  but  just  plain,  raw,  unvar- 
nished and  untitled  Foxboro',  you  have  your 
choice  of  coming  straight  through  or  taking  a 
train  by  which  you  must  change  cars  at  Mans- 
field. If  you  have  to  change  cars,  you  get  off 
at  Mansfield,  and  find  three  or  four  trains,  all 
headed  in  different  directions,  all  impatient  to 
jump  away  like  rockets,  and  you  climb  into  one 
and  sail  away,  and  the  conductor  comes  along, 
looks  at  your  ticket  and  says,  "wrong  train," 
and  holds  out  his  hand  for  ten  cents.  When 
do  you  get  a  train  back  ?  Eleven  and  one-half 
seconds.  Back  you  go  clear  through  ;  "  this 
train  doesn'  t  stop  at  Mansfield. ' '  When  can  y oa 
get  a  train  that  does  ?    Three  minutes.    Up  you 


RAILEOADIJJ'G  D0\7N    EAST.  127 

go  again.  That  train  doesn't  stop  at  Foxboro'. 
In  four  minutes  after  you  have  passed  through 
the  town,  you  strike  the  train  that  possesses 
the  happy  qualifications  of  going  in  the  right 
direction  and  stopping  at  the  proper  place,  and 
you  are  at  Foxboro'.  You  have  traveled  on  five 
different  railroads,  in  eleven  different  direc- 
tions, have  gone  one  hundred  and  twenty-three 
miles,  and  get  to  Foxboro'  in  eighteen  minutes. 

It  is  no  off-hand  thing  for  the  guileless,  un- 
tutored child  of  the  West  to  go  anywhere  in 
the  barbaric  orient.  Y'ou  say  to  the  man  at  the 
ticket  office : 

"  I  want  to  go  to  North  Haddock." 

*' Yes,"  he  says,  "which  way  do  you  want 
to  go?" 

And  you  learn  there  are  five  ways  to  go  ; 
via  all  sorts  of  -fords  and  -tons  and  -dams  and 
junctions. 

"Well,"  you  say,  "I  want  to  go  by  the 
shortest  route. '\ 

And  he  tells  you  that  so  far  as  time  is  con- 
cerned, by  which  all  railroad  men  measure 
distance,  they  are  all  about  alike  ;  you'll  get 
there  at  just  about  the  same  time. 

You  are  puzzled,  but  suddenly  think  of  a 


128  EAILROADIXG   DOWN    EAST. 

way  by  which  your  choice  can  be  made      You 

iSay, 

'        ''All  right,  give  me  a  ticket  by  the  route 
with  the  fewest  changes." 

"Oh,  well,"  the  man  says,  "it  doesn't 
make  any  difference  so  far  as  that  goes.  You 
don' t  have  to  change  ;  you  get  into  a  through 
car  whichever  route  you  take." 

There  is  something  beautiful  about  that,  as 
sure  as  you're  born.  You  immediately  select 
your  route  at  random,  go  the  longest  way 
around,  and  get  there  first.  It  is  a  lovely 
country  for  travelers.  And  such  roads.  Look 
at  this  manuscript.  Thirty-five  miles  an  Lour 
and  not  a  jog  in  it.  Or  if  there  is,  the  composi- 
tor put  it  in,  and  it  is  a  typographical  error. 

And  then  they  always  offer  you  a  choice  of 
tickets.  One  that  sends  you  right  through  on 
the  jump,  and  won't  let  you  stop  a  minute,  and 
another  kind  that  will  permit  you  to  loiter 
along  the  way  for  a  month. 


THE   METRIC   SYSTEM.  J29 


THE  METRIC   SYSTEM. 

The  railway  stations  in  New  England  arft 
measled  with  the  charts  of  the  metric  system. 
By  the  time  a  man  has  waited  for  trains  at  two 
or  three   junctions,   he  has   learned   as  much 
about  the  metric  system  as  he  can  forget  in  ten 
minutes.     I  studied  a  chart  in  the  station  at 
Mansfield,  while  waiting  for  a  train  to  Foxboro', 
and  it  has  puzzled  me  ever  since  to  know  why  a 
polymeter  of  water  should  equal  a  centipede  of 
cloth,  or  why  the  measure  of  two  kilometers  of 
wood  should  be  identical  with  a  decimeter  of 
oats.     People  who  know  assure  me  that  it  is 
the  finest,   most  convenient  and  most  perfect 
system  in   the   world.     If   that  is  so,  there  is 
something  wrong  about  that  chart  at  Mansfield, 
because,  just  after  I  had  figured  out   that  a 
duckometer  was  exactly  a  mile  and  three-quar- 
ters long,    I  read   a   foot-note  stating   that   a 
duckometer  was  the  "minim"  of  apothecaries' 
measure.     There  certainly  is  something  weird 
about  it. 
9 


130   THE  TROUBLES  OF  THE  TALL  MAN. 


THE  TROUBLES  OF  THE   TALL  MAN. 

Just  after  I  left  Foxboro',  a  tall  man  sat 
down  in  the  seat  in  front  of  me.  I  had  noticed 
him  standing  wearily  abont  on  the  platform, 
and  I  pitied  him.  My  heart  was  full  of  sym- 
pathy for  him.  I  am  always  sorry  for  a  tall 
man.  Sometimes,  when  I  get  before  an  audi- 
ence, and  have  to  stand  on  my  tip-toes  to  look 
over  the  foot -lights,  I  wish  I  was  a  trifle  taller 
than  I  am.  But  this  longing  is  only  moment- 
ary. It  passes  away  as  soon  as  I  see  an  unusu- 
ally tall  man.  You  see,  a  very  tall  man  is 
always  pursued,  haunted,  by  one  unvarying 
joke.  Every  short  or  ordinary-sized  man  that 
approaches  him  throws  back  his  head,  affects 
to  gaze  up  into  the  heavens  with  a  painful 
effort,  and  asks,  "  Isn't  it  pretty  cold  up  where 
you  are  ?"  Just  watch  the  next  short  man  you 
see  meet  a  tall  one,  and  see  if  this  conundrum 
doesn't  follow  the  first  greeting.  Just  watch 
and  see  if  you  do  not  ask  it  yourself.  And  this 
must  be  dreadfully  wearing  on  the  tall  man. 
I  have  observed  that  as  a  rule  big  men,  tall 
men,  are  good-natured.     It  is  we  little  fellows 


THE  TROUBLES  OF  THE  TALL  MAX.    131 


who  have  waspish  tempers.  So  the  tall  man 
never  resents  this  venerable  joke  by  sitting 
down  on  the  man  who  gets  it  off.  He  smiles 
drearily,  and  with  a  weary  effort  to  appear  in- 
terested, and  tries 
to  look  as  though 
he  had  never  heard 
it  before.  It  must 
be  a  perfect  torture 
for  the  tall  man  to 
hear  this  question 
fifty  times  a  day 
for  thirty  or  forty 
years.  Sometimes, 
when  I  hear  a  dozen 
men  ask  a  tall  man 
of  my  acquaintance 
this      question,     in 


direct  succession, 
and  see  him  endure 
it  so  patiently,  I 
wish  I  was  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  and  a  little 
man,  four  feet  eleven  and  a  half,  would  come 
np  to  me  some  day  when  I  felt  right  good,  and 
stare  up  at  me  with  a  grin  longer  than  his  body, 
and  ask  me  '*if  it  wasn't  pretty  cold  up  there f' 


A    COLOSSAL    KICK. 


132  EXAMINATION. 

and  I  would  hold  him  up  by  the  neck,  and  I 
would  swing  my  brazen  leg  until  it  got  the 
motion  and  the  impetus  of  a  walking-beam, 
and  then  I  would  kick  the  little  fellow  so  high 
that  he  could  read  the  names  of  the  streets  on 
the  street  lamps  in  Uranus,  and  I  would  sarcas- 
tically shout  after  him,  "  Xo,  it's  red  hot !" 

Have  tall  men  no  rights  that  we,  who  live 
eight  or  ten  inches  nearer  the  earth,  are  bound 
to  respect  ? 


*'  Of  what  is  milk  composed  ?"  asked  the 
professor.  And  the  smart  bad  boy  who  has  to 
study  through  vacation,  replied,  "one  part 
oxygen  to  two  of  hydrogen."  The  professor 
looked  incredulous.  "Well,  not  quite  so  bad 
as  that,"  he  said;  "anything  else?"  "Some- 
times," said  the  smart  bad  boy,  "  a  little  tinc- 
ture of  lactic  acid  or  some  caseous  matter." 
The  professor  sent  him  to  his  room  and  told 
him  the  next  time  he  wanted  to  analyze  milk  he 
mustn't  buy  it  so  near  the  river. 


TOO    LATE    FOR    A    TICKET.  133 


TOO  LATE  FOR  A  TICKET 

The  happiest  traveling  companion  I  have 
met  this  winter  was  Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher, 
whom  I  met  on  a  train  somewhere  in  Central 
New  York.  Off  the  platform,  and  I  expect  on 
the  platform  as  well,  he  is  as  happy  and  care- 
free as  a  boy  fourteen  years  old.  He  is  running 
over  with  fun,  and  stories,  and  reminiscences, 
and  I  think  the  fifty  miles  I  rode  with  him  were 
the  shortest  and  happiest  of  my  pilgrimage.  A 
grand,  a  thoroughly  grand  man  ! 

One  time,  he  went  down  to  Boston  to  lec- 
ture. In  the  afternoon  he  went  into  a  barber 
shop  of  great  tone  and  refinement,  in  Tremont 
Place,  to  be  shaved.  The  barber  was  a  garru- 
lous fellow,  a  Polish  Count,  judged  from  his 
manner— perhaps  the  Count  Bozenta  Modjeska, 
who  knows  ? — who  entertained  Mr.  Beecher, 
while  he  lathered  his  face,  with  intellectual  con- 
versation. He  asked,  "Are  you  going  to  the 
lecture  this  evening  ?    Going  to  the  lecture  ?" 

"Oh,"  Mr.  Beecher  replied  wearily,  as  a 
man  who  didn't  take  much  stock  in  lectures, 
"I  don't  know  ;  who's  going  to  lecture f 


134  TOO    LATE    FOR    A    TICKET. 

*'Why,"  the  amazed  barber  exclaimed, 
**Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher ;  Rev.  Henry 
Ward  Beecher,  of  Brooklyn.  Going  to  lecture 
to-night,  in  Music  Hall." 

Mr.  Beecher  roused  up  a  little  with  an  air  of 
indifferent  interest.  "Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "if 
he  is  going  to  lecture,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  go." 

"Got  your  tickets?"  the  barber  rattled  on. 
"  Got  your  tickets  ?    Got  your  ticket  ?" 

"No,"  Mr.  Beecher  replied,  "I  have  no 
ticket." 

The  barber  laughed  merrily,  "Ha,  ha,  ha!" 
he  shouted.  "  You'll  have  to  stand  up  ;  you'll 
have  to  stand  up !  Seats  all  gone  two  days 
ago  ;  you'll  have  to  stand  up." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Mr.  Beecher,  with  an 
air  of  grave  vexation,  "do  you  know,  that  is 
just  my  lack  1  I  was  in  Brooklyn  last  Sunday, 
and  went  over  to  Plymouth  Church  twice,  to 
hear  that  fellow  preach,  morning  and  evening, 
and  both  times  I  had  to  stand  up  all  through 
the  sermon." 

And  as  he  went  away,  the  still  unenlight- 
ened barber  laughed  at  the  man  who  would 
"have  to  stand  up"  at  Mr.  Beecher's  lecture. 


EAILEOAD    SLEEPERS. 


135 


RAILROAD   SLEEPERS. 

Tjius  far,  I  have  passed  the  greater  part  of 
the  winter  of  1S78  in  getting  up  at  2  o'clock  in 
the  morning  to  catch  trains.  Early  rising  may  be 
very  beneficial  as  a  health-promoting  habit,  but 
it  isn't  the  sweetest  thing  on  earth  as  an  amuse- 
ment, or  a  simple  means  of  killing  time.  And 
then,  if  you  ride  on  the  cars  all  that  day,  you 
get  sleepy.     And  you  sleep  a  little. 

Now,  you  can' t  sleep  when  you  first  get  on 
the  car.      You  are  wide  awake.      The  car  is 


FIFTY    CENTS     WORTH. 


always  cold  at  that  unearthly  and  unchristian 
hour.  And  you  have  to  either  sit  on  the  Avood- 
box  or  have  a   timid    quarrel  with  some  man 


136  RAILROAD   SLEEPERS. 

traveling  on  a  pass  or  a  half-fare  ticket  to  make 
him  let  you  have  a  small  fractional  jjart  of  one 
of  the  four  seats  he  has  spread  himself  out  over. 
If  you  don't  weigh  any  more  than  myself,  you 
do  as  I  do — pick  out  the  crossest-looking  brake- 
man  on  the  train,  call  him  ''conductor,"  and 
give  him  half  a  dollar  to  get  you  a  seat. 

And  it  just  makes  the  immortal  gods  lie 
down  on  the  grass  and  hold  their  ambrosia- 
scented  breath  to  see  him  waltz  in  and  stir  up 
the  menagerie. 

But  along  about  ten  o'clock  you  begin  to 
grow  most  intolerably  sleepy.  This  is  partly 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  car  is  now  delight- 
fully warm  and  comfortable,  but  it  is  chieHy 
because  the  car  is  at  this  time  about  as  full  of 
passengers  as  it  is  going  to  be,  and  about  two- 
thirds  of  the  number  are  women. 

It  is  a  supremely  comfortable  feeling  that 
comes  creeping  over  a  man,  just  as  he  sinks  into 
profound  slumber.  But  it  is  extremely  morti- 
fying for  him  to  awake  very  suddenly,  with  the 
scalding  consciousness  that  he  has  been  sleep- 
ing for  nearly  eighteen  miles  in  the  regularly 
ordained  day-coach  fashion,  with  his  head 
hanging  down  over  the  back  of  the  seat,  his 


RVILROAD    SLEEPERS.  137 

mouth  open  so  wide  nobody  could  see  liis  face. 
and  the  first  thing  he  sees  when  he  opens  his 
eyes  is  five  girls,  looking  straight  at  him.  It 
annoys  him.  It  makes  him  feel  that  he  appears 
at  great  disadvantage  with  the  rest  of  the  pas- 
sengers who  are  and  have  been  wide  awake. 
Even  a  married  man,  the  marriedest  man  in  the 
United  States,  old  and  out  of  the  market, 
doesn't  like  to  afford  amusement  in  that  way  to 
the  only  pretty  passengers  on  the  train.  Even 
a  man  with  the  best  wife  and  the  only  boy 
worth  having  in  America,  feels  that  he  has  lost 
dignity  under  such  circumstances.  I  am  going 
to  quit  it.  I  shall  cancel,  without  further  pro- 
vocation, the  next  lecture  engagement  that  is 
implicated  with  a  peep  o'  day  train. 

I  am  going  to  shut  down  on  this  early  ris- 
ing. Somebody  will  get  killed  with  this  fool- 
ishness yet.  Congress  ought  to  pass  a  law, 
making  early  rising  a  capital  offense.  By  the 
time  one  or  two  men  were  hanged  for  getting  up 
at  three  o'clock,  people  would  quit  it.  If  it 
isn't  stopped,  some  man  will  get  his  eye  put 
out  with  it. 

If — I  mean  when,  I  am  president,  I  shall 
issue   a    proclamation   compelling    all   railway 


138  A  DISAPPOINTED  ETYMOLOGIST. 

trains  to  start  from  all  stations  at  9  o'clock, 
A.  M.— that's  a  good  hour— and  to  arrive  at  all 
stations  at  not  later  than  5:30  p.  m.  I  think  I 
have  about  the  correct  views  on  railway  legisla- 
tion. 


A  DISAPPOIXTED   ETYMOLOGIST. 

*'  Let  me  look  at  your  dictionary  a  minute," 
a  polite,  well-dressed  stranger  asked,  bowing 
into  the  sanctum  in  some  haste  yesterday  morn- 
ing. "Certainly,"  and  we  shoved  Noah  W.'s 
charming  novelette,  unexpunged  edition,  over 
to  his  side  of  the  table.  Long  and  earnestly 
looked  the  man.  Then  a  dark  ivown  settled 
down  on  his  brow  like  a  winter  cloud.  He 
banged  the  book  down  on  the  floor  and  kicked 
it.  "Blame  such  a  dictionary,"  he  roared,  "I 
wouldn't  give  a  cent  a  thousand  for  such  a 
book!  It's  got  Independence,  and  Homestead, 
and  Crescent,  and  Pilot,  and  Sandwich,  and  a 
whole  host  of  them  little  towns  in  it,  and  never 
a  mention  of  Burlington,  or  Keokuk,  or  Des 
Moines,  or  Chicago,  or  any  big  town  in  the 
whole  book  !"  And  he  gave  it  a  parting  kick 
and  was  gone. 


CARDS   VS.    CROQUET. 


139 


CARDS  vs.  CROQUET. 

From  the  car  window,  I  saw  to-day  the  first 
game  of  croquet  of  the  season.  The  game  pos- 
sesses a  singular  interest  for  me.  One  time,  I 
rode  more  than  fifty  miles  in  a  railway  car, 
seated  behind  four  men  who  were  playing  with 
those  awful  playthings  of  the  devil  — cards. 
They  played  euchre  until  they  were  tired  of  it ; 
they  played  a  little  seven-up,  pedro,  and  oc- 
casionally a  trilie  of  poker.  1  never  heard  a 
dispute.  Their  frequent  bursts  of  merriment  at 
some  unexpected  play  repeatedly  drew  my  eyes 
from  my  book.  They  never  quarreled,  and  never 
once  called  names. 
When  I  got  out  at  the 
station  I  sat  at  my 
window  and  watched  a 
party  of  young  men 
and  maidens  play  cro- 
quet. In  fifteen  min- 
utes I  saw  two  persons 
cheat  successfully.  I 
heard    the  one  player 

who  did    not  cheat  accused  of    cheating  five 
times.    I  heard  four  distinct,  bitter  quarrels. 


A    SOOTHING    PASTIME. 


140  ''WHY    IS    IT?" 

I  heard  a  beautiful  young  girl  tell  two  lies,  and 

a  meek-looking  young  man  three,  and  finally  1 

saw  the  young  girl  throw  her  mallet  against  a 

fence  so  hard  that  it  frightened  a  horse ;  the 

other  young  girl  pounded  her  mallet  so  hard  on 

the  ground   that  it  knocked   the  buds  off  an 

apple  tree.     They  both  banged  into  the  house 

at  different   doors,    and    the   two    young  men 

looked   sheepish  and  went  off  after  a  drink. 

Now,  why  is  ttiis  ?    Isn't  croquet  a  good  moral 

game? 

*•» 

A  WOMAN  writes  to  find  out  what  evil  genius 
it  is  that  always  leads  a  man  into  the  parlor  to 
Wack  his  boots  on  the  best  ottoman,  rather  than 
on  the  more  convenient  w^ood-box  in  the 
kitchen  ?  And  why  a  man  always  starts  to 
walk  away  from  the  washstand  w^hen  he  begins 
to  wipe  his  face,  and  drops  the  towel  half-way 
down  the  stairs,  or  out  in  the  front  yard,  or 
wherever  he  may  be  when  his  face  is  dried  ? 
Good  land,  woman,  do  we  know  the  unfathom- 
able ?  We  suppose  its  the  same  impulse  that 
always  makes  a  woman  stand  before  the  glass 
to  comb  her  back  hair  or  button  the  back  of  her 
polonaise. 


THE    PASSING   OF  THE   TRAIN   BOY.  141 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TRAIX  BOY. 

In  the  West  the  day  was  dying  ; 

Wintry  cloud  ships  near  the  sun, 
In  a  sea  of  crimson  lying, 

Told  the  day  was  almost  done. 
On  his  couch  of  pain  and  weakness, 

Pale  and  still  the  train  boy  lies  ; 
Beams  his  face  with  placid  meekness, 

Glow  with  softened  light  his  eyes. 

"  Comrades,  on  both  sides  surround  me  j" 

And  he  brightens  with  a  smile  ; 
"In  two  long  lines  stand  around  me, 

Make  my  couch  the  Pullman  aisle." 
Even  as  the  wish  he  utters 

Round  they  stand  with  wond'ring  stares, 
While  in  husky  tones  he  mutters, 

"  Pears  ?     Fresh  California  pears  ?" 

Then  they  tumble  to  his  fancies 

And  at  passengers  they  play. 
While  they  snarl  with  surly  glances, 

"  Xaw  I"  "  Don't  want  no  pears  !"  "  Go  'way  !" 
Then  they  closer  stand  around  him, 

Bendinc(  low  to  hear  him  say. 


142  HAMLET. 

As  though  in  the  car  they  found  him — • 
"  Peanuts  ?     Roasted,  fresh  to-day  !" 

Then  they  lioot  in  wild  derision, 

And  in  answer  to  their  scorn. 
Loud  he  cries,  with  kindling  vision, 

"  English  walnuts  ?     Fresh  pop-corn  ? 
All  the  latest  and  the  best  books  ? 

Morning  papers?  Journal?   Times? 
Dally  Jlaickeye?  Roasted  chestnuts? 

Don't  be  stingy  with  your  dimes. 

"New-laid  figs  ?  The  best  imported 

Hand-made  Abyssinian  dates  ? 
Train  stops  while  you  eat  one  ;  sorted 

For  the  trade,  in  canvas  crates." 
Thus  his  strength  comes  back  with  chaffing, 

And  his  comrades  dry  their  tears  ; 
From  death's  jaws  he  leaps,  and  laughing, 

Runs  the  train  for  fifty  years. 


When  Hamlet  said,  ''Seams,  madam? 
Nay,  I  know  not  seams,"  lie  wasn't  talking 
poetry,  but  had  just  killed  a  sewing-macliine 
agent  in  the  front  hall. 


LOST  niS  POCKET-BOOK.  143 


LOST    HIS    POCKET-BOOK. 

My  troubles  in  getting  from  Summit,  New 
Jersey,  to  Herkimer,  New  York,  in  a  snow- 
storm, began  at  the  Hoboken  ferries.  There 
was  enough  ice  in  the  river  to  start  a  new 
Greenland.  Then,  when  at  last  I  got  across 
the  river  and  up  to  the  Grand  Central  depot, 
I  found  I  had  just  time  to  make  the  train  if  I 
flew  around,  and 

I  couldn't  find  my  pocket-book. 

I  knew  I  hadn't  lost  it,  or  given  it  away, 
so  1  hunted  for  it. 

I  have  often  laughed  at  a  nervous,  belated 
traveler  searching  for  his  pocket-book,  while 
the  jangling  bells  and  hissing  cylinder  cocks 
out  on  the  tracks  drove  him  wild  with  nerv- 
ousness and  terror.  I  will  never  laugh  at 
him  again. 

Believe  me,  there  is  nothing  funny  about 
it,  nothing. 

"You'll  have  time  to  get  the  train  if  you 
hurry,"  the  ticket-agent   said. 

I  felt  in  my  hip  pocket.  No  pocket-book 
there.     I  felt  in  my  other  hip  pocket.     A  watch 


144  LOST   HIS   POCKET-BOOK. 

k8\^  a  chestnut,  fiv^e  newspaper  clippings, 
two  letters  and  a  piece  of  string.  No  pocket- 
book.  I  went  down  into  my  inside  vest 
pocket.  No  indication  of  a  national  bank  in 
that  vicinity.  I  dived  into  my  outside  vest- 
pockets,  and  the  sounding  apparatus  brought 
up  handfuls  of  lint,  broken  matches,  fragments 
of  wooden  tooth-picks,  hotel  cards,  eyeless  but- 
tons, and  bits  of  lead-pencils.  I  plunged  madly 
into  the  pockets  of  my  coat.  I  brought  up 
handkerchiefs,  a  pocket-comb,  some  visiting 
cards,  a  conductor's  check — how  did  I  manage 
to  keep  that  ?  I  wondered ;  a  calendar  for 
1879,  a  reporter's  note-book,  a  hotel  key — for 
heaven's  sake  when  and  from  where  did  I  carry 
that  off  ? — a  pair  of  gloves,  two  time  cards,  and 
a  pocket-map  of  Nev/  England,  but  nothing 
with  which  I  could  buy  a  ticket  to  Utica.  My 
hands  moved  faster  than  the  days  on  a  prom- 
issory note.  The  people  in  the  depot  laughed 
a  great  deal  and  pitied  a  little.  The  case  was 
growing  desperate.  The  man  at  the  gate 
chanted,  "All  aboard  for  Albany  and  the 
West, "  and  I  went  fairly  wild  with  excite- 
ment. I  inaugurated  a  sweeping  investigation 
into  the  condition  and  contents  of  my  overcoat 


LOST   HIS   POCKET-BOOK.  145 

pockets,  and  as  I  dragged  tlie  things  out,  I  piled 
them  up  on  the  floor.  Newspapers  of  various 
dates  ;  an  "Official  railway  guide,"  with  all  the 
time-tables  wrong  and  the  ticket  fares  set 
down  in  the  population  columns  ;  a  map  of 
New  York  and  Pennsylvania,  a  pair  of  mittens, 
a  pocket  knife — how  did  that  come  out  there  ? 
a  lot  of  visiting  cards,  a  memorandum  book, 
a  quart  of  letters,  a  package  of  stamped  envel- 
opes, a  pocket-handkerchief,  a  vest  buckle,  a 
cop3'  of  Puck,  and  a  late  Graphic,  two  grains  of 
corn,  a  hat  full  of  lint,  some  string,  a  round 
stone,  a  black  neck-tie,  and  a  lump  of  chalk. 

How  the  people  in  the  depot  enjoyed  it 
and  took  it  all  in.  Only  one  man  sincerely 
pitied  me.  He  came  up  and  watched  me,  while 
with  feverish  eagerness  and  frenzied  haste  I 
emptied  those  cisterns  of  pockets,  and  by  and 
by  he  said : 

"  How  fur  ye  going,  mister?" 

''Utica,"  I  gasped;  "  Utica,  if  I  go  any- 
where." 

He  looked  at  me  pityingly  for  a  moment, 
while  I  went  on  wildly  strewing  the  floor   of 
the  Grand  Central    depot    with  the  chaos  of 
things  evolved  from  my  pockets. 
10 


146 


LOST   HIS   POCKET-BOOK. 


^'  By  gaul,"  he  said,  "I've  a  good  mind  to 
lend  you  the  money." 

But  just  then,  clear  down  at  the  bottom  of 
an  outside  pocket,  my  missing  national  bank 
turned   up.     I  got  on  the  train  without  even 

time  to  thank  the 
tender-hearted  New- 
Yorker,  and  started 
on  my  wiiy  toward  a 
snow-drift  as  big  as 
the  side  of  Pike's 
Peak.  And  when  I 
got  down  to  Herki- 
mer this  afternoon,  I 
rode  down  in  a  train 
consisting  of  three 
_.  _  coaches  and  three  en- 

A  piTTTNQ  sTRAjs-GER.  Englucs  are  no  ob- 

ject to  the  railroaders 
of  this  country  where  there  is  snow  on  the  air. 
Last  night  you  hear  the  air  go  into  convul- 
sions with  the  most  terrific  coughing  and  puSf 
ing  that  ever  startled  the  night.  The  earth 
trembles  and  quakes  under  the  straining,  pant- 
Here  she  comes.     One  locomotive 


A   BASE    FLATTERER.  147 

passes  you  ;  two  ;  three  ;  four  ;  five  ;  six  engines 
go  straining  and  panting  by.     Now    for    the 
train.     You  look   to   see   a   train  tliat  reaches 
from  there  to   Rochester. 
There  is  one  smoking-car  ! 


A  BASE  FLATTERER. 

JoxESBURG,  Missouri.  A  touching  incident 
has  just  obtruded  itself  upon  the  attention  of 
the  passengers.  A  gentleman,  it  may  be  Mr. 
Jones  himself  for  aught  I  know,  has  just  got  off 
the  train  very  abruptly.  He  missed  the  two 
lower  steps  on  the  car  entirely,  but  he  hit  the 
platform  plumb  center,  breaking  his  fall  by 
dropping  on  a  bird-cage  he  was  carrying.  As  a 
buffer  a  bird-cage  is  not  a  success.  It  is  yield- 
ing enough,  but  does  not  possess  a  sufficient 
degree  of  elasticity.  I  am  happy  to  state  that 
although  the  once  beautiful  bird-c.ige,  as  the 
gentleman  angrily  holds  it  up  to  examine  it, 
now  looks  like  a  gilded  wire  gridiron,  the 
canary  is  not  dead.  But  it  is  cooped  up  in  the 
narrowest  corner  that  a  terrified  canary  ever 
cramped  its  legs  in. 


148 


BEAUTIFUL   SNOW. 


BEAUTIFUL    SXOW. 


A    ^'E^V    AXD    EEVISED    EDITION. 

Y  visions  of  spring  have  taken  the 
T\-ing,  and  are  off  with  the  flight 
of  the  stork,  and  the  climate  to- 
day, in  a  mild   sort   of  way,  re- 
minds me  of  Central 
New  York. 

For  the  beautiful 
snow,  as  you  probably 
know,  has  taken  this 
country  by  storm ; 
and  with  wonderful 
thrift  it  piles  drift 
upon  drift,  in  the  very 
worst  kind  of  bad 
form. 

The  trains  are  de- 
layed, and  my  lecture 
played,  for  it's  thir- 
teen  long  miles  to 
Carlisle  ;  and  the  way 
it  is  snowing,  and  drifting  and  blowing,  thirty 
rods  makes  a  pretty  long  mile. 


POETRY    OF    WIXTER    TRAVEL 


BEAUTIFUL  SNOW.  149 

So  despairing  I  wait  till  the  storm  shall 
abate,  and  some  kind  of  a  train  comes  along, 
when,  shorter  and  fleeter  than  any  short  meter, 
ril  cut  off  the  rest  of  my  song. 

But  with  portent  most  dire,  still  higher  and 
higher,  still  pile  up  the  drifts  at  the  winder  ; 
with  the  roar  of  a  gong^  the  storm  sweeps 
along,  and  no  one  seems  able  to  hinder. 

It's  provoking,  oh,  very  ;  I  thought  Febru- 
ary a  season  devoted  to  thaw  ;  but  the  ground 
hog — I  guess  'at  hef,  just  like  necessity,  knows 
neither  season  nor  law. 

For  the  flakes  whirling  down  I  can't  see  the 
town;  I  can't  tell  the  South  from  the  Bend; 
for  all  I  can  see,  all  the  world  except  me,  has 
suddenly  come  to  an  end. 

It's  just  my  blessed  luck,  in  a  drift  to  get 
stuck,  and  I  think  if  I  sought  the  equator,  that 
a  snow  storm  would  foUer  and  till  every  holler, 
with  the  drifts  of  a  'seventy-eighter. 

*  It  doesn't  really  sound  very  much  like  a  gong,  but  I 
couldn't  think  of  anything  else  to  rhyme  with  song. 

+  Accent  heavy  on  the  first  syllable  of  this  clause.  Ex- 
planations of  this  line  will  be  sent  to  every  person  who  sends 
in  a  year's  subscription  for  The  Hawkeye. 


150  FOREBODINGS. 


FOREBODIXGS. 

"  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wynd, 
Thou  art  not  so  unky-ind 

As  man's  ingrat-cbi-chude ;" 
The  folk  at  New  Carlisle, 
With  unbecoming  smile, 
Will  say,  "He  might  have  got  here  if  he  wude." 

But  how  can  a  feller  get  anywhere, 
When  the  drifting  snowflakes  fill  the  air, 

And  the  trains  are  all  behind  ? 
When  he  can't  do  nothing  but  stand  and  stare 
At  the  useless  time  cards,  here  and  there, 
That  grimly  answer  his  anxious  stare 

By  asking  him  "  what  he  can  find  ?'* 
When  the  best  he  can  do  is  to  sulk  and  mope, 
And  vainly  hope  against  hopeless  hope. 
And  vaguely  into  philosophy  grope 

And  endeavor  to  feel  resigned  ? 
While  he  knows,  as  certain  as  he  can  see, 
How  awfully  mad  the  committee  will  be. 
The  much-abused,  patient  committee, 
With  the  hall  man  claiming  his  rent  or  he'll  sue, 
And  a  bill  for  dodgers  and  posters  due. 

And  nothing  to  straddle  the  blind  ?* 

*  This  expression,  the  exact  meaning  of  which  I  do  not 


THREXODY.  151 


THREXODY.* 

I've  a  letter  from  thy  sire, 

Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ; 
And  he's  just  as  mad  as  fire, 

Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ! 
And  he  says  if  I  come  nigher, 
That  he'll  raise  me  ten  times  liigher, 
Than  the  German  Methodist  spire, 

^fary  Ann,  3Iary  Ann  ! 
If  to  win  thee  I  aspire, 

Mary  Ann  ! 

Oh,  I  dread  to  see  his  fa-hace, 
Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ; 

know,  is  something  I  once  heard  down  in  southwestern 
Missouri.  I  think  it  is  the  pass-word  to  some  sort  of  secret 
society. 

*  It  may  strike  the  critical  reader  that  the  threnody  hasn't 
much  to  do  with  the  snow  storm.  I  will  admit  that  I  was 
impressed  with  the  same  idea,  but  I  couldn't  see,  as  I  went 
along,  just  how  I  could  work  the  snow  storm  in,  so  I  just  let 
the  thing  take  its  own  course,  hoping  that  it  would  come 
around  to  the  snow  storm  after  awliile,  some  way  or  other; 
instead  of  which  it  just  seemed  to  get  threnodier  and  threno- 
dier,  and  connoisseurs  think  the  climax  is  reached  in  the 
third  stanza,  which  is  pronounced  by  the  supreme  court  of 
the  United  States,  admitted  to  be  the  best  judges,  to  be  the 
threnodiest  of  the  lot. 


152  THRENODY. 

For  I  know  he'll  give  me  clia-hase, 
Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ! 

He  will  waltz  me  round  the  room  ; 

He  will  fan  me  with  the  broom  ; 

Yes,  I  safely  may  assume, 

Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann, 

That  he'll  fire  me  out  the  roo-hoom, 
Mary  Ann  ! 

I'm  80  scared  I  cannot  slee-heep, 
Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ; 

For  I'm  struck  all  of  a  hee-heap, 
Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ! 

He  is  coming  after  me  ! 

Blood  in  both  his  eyes  I  see, 

Oh,  wherever  shall  I  flee-hee? 
Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann  ; 

He  will  make  it  hot  for  me-he, 
Mary  Ann  ! 


Theee  is  a  parrot  in  Marshalltown,  Iowa, 
that  is  fifty  years  old,  but  it  can  say  "Polly- 
wolla  kowackwah"  just  as  plainly  and  just  as 
many  hundred  thousand  times  a  day,  as  it 
could  when  Iowa  was  a  howling  wilderness. 


THE    VEXTILATIOX    FIEND.  153 


THE  YEXTILATIOX  FIEXD. 

At  Lyons  Falls  the  ventilation  fiend  gets  on 
the  train.  She  is  a  woman  this  time.  Would 
I  open  the  ^\indow  for  her  \ 

I  would  and  did. 

Did  it  annoy  me  ? 

Oh,  no ;  I  rather  liked  to  have  the  snow 
blow  in  and  beat  down  my  neck  and  back.  It 
soothed  me  and  braced  me.  as  it  were,  up. 

She  was  fading  away,  she  told  me,  with  con- 
sumption. 

I  didn't  doubt  it.  She  was  five  inches  taller 
than  myself,  and  weighed  about  one  hundred 
and  eio^htv-nine.  Ever\'  time  she  couizhed  it 
knocked  the  stove  down. 

The  woman  said  to  me  that  she  knew  it  was 
her  fate.  Her  mother  passed  away  with  the 
same  fell  scourge  ;  her  mother's  father  and  his 
mother  before  him  died  by  the  same  disease  ; 
all  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  too,  had  thus 
1  passed  away.  She  was  the  last  of  seven,  she 
said,  sadly.  Was  my  life,  she  asked,  under 
the  dark  shadow  of  any  hereditary  taint  ? 

Oh,  no,  I  said,  as  cheerfully  as  I  could  under 


151  CORX-COLOR. 

the  circumstances.  Oh,  no,  there  had  never 
been  any  such  depressing  monotony  in  our 
family  in  its  taking  off.  We  never  had  any 
particular  or  favorite  style  of  dying.  When 
the  time  come  we  never  delayed  things  waiting 
for  the  family  complaint.  We  just  laid  down 
and  died  of  anything  that  happened  to  come 
along.  Anything  that  was  handy  at  the  time 
suited  us. 


The  other  day  such  a  beautiful  young  lady, 
eyes  like  midnight,  hair  like  the  raven's  wing, 
brow  like  alabaster,  lips  like  coral,  purse  like 
an  overland  mail  pouch,  went  into  a  Jefferson 
street  dry-goods  store,  and  asked  to  see  some 
corn-colored  silk.  The  youngest  clerk  limped 
painfully  behind  the  counter  and  handed  her 
down  a  piece  of  scarlet.  '*I  said  corn-color," 
she  murmured.  The  young  salesman  hesitated 
and  fidgeted.  "  Well,  by  dad,"  he  exclaimed, 
''that's  the  prevailing  color  of  all  my  corns." 
And  by  the  time  the  proprietor  could  hurry 
over  to  ask  what  was  tbe  matter,  she  was  out  of 
the  door,  and  half  a  block  away. 


EATING   ON   THE   FLY. 


155 


EATING  ON  THE  FLY. 

LowviLLE— Ten  minutes  for  refreshments. 
The  sandwich  of  the  raih'oad  ;  the  custard  pie 
three  inches  thick ;  the  ham  sandwich  with  the 


TEN  MINUTES  FOR  REFRESHMENTS. 

ham  left  out ;  the  biscuit  that  was  cast  at  the 
iron  foundry  ;  the  coffee  that  ought  to  be  named 
Macbeth,  because  it  murders  sleep  ;  ten  minutes 
for  refreshments.     Bolt  'em  down. 

Castor  Land,   the  next  station,    only  eight 
miles  further  on.     What  an  appropriate  name 


156  A   NEW   NAME   FOR   IT. 

to  follow  the  dining  station  !  Castor  Land  ; 
])ity  it  wasn't  an  island,  then  they  could  call  it 
Castor  isle.  Castor  Land.  I  suppose  the  happy 
beings  who  live  here  are  known  as  Castor  beins. 
It  is  snowing  so  hard  as  we  pass  through 
this  station  that  you  can  t  tell  the  land  from 
the  Castor. 


A   NEW  NAME  FOR  IT. 

"King  Humbert,"  old  Mr.  Throstlewaite 
read  from  his  pax)er,  '  •  is  said  to  be  very  fond  of 
Garibaldi."  "And  it's  none  to  his  credit," 
sputtered  Mrs.  Throstlewaite,  "  that  he  is.  The 
king  of  Italy  might  have  better  tastes  than  to 
be  a-sitting  on  his  royal  throne  guzzling  and 
swilling  spirituous  liquors  with  funny  names 
wdiile  his  people  demand  all  his  attention.  If 
he's  fond  of  it  now,  where  will  his  appetite 
carry  him  by  the  time  he's  forty-five?  His 
fancy  drinks  won't  be  strong  enough  for  him 
then,  and  he'll  be  a  common  raw  whisky  drunk- 
ard." And  she  went  on  to  tell  of  a  young  man 
she  knew  down  at  New  Bedford,  who  was 
passionately  fond  of  Tommanjerry,  and  drank 
himself  into  the  grave  in  23  years. 


RAILWAY  ckiticism:.  157 


RAILWAY  CRITICISM. 

Friday  morning,  as  the  Utica  and  Black 
River  train  goes  out  of  ^Vatertown,  two  intelli- 
gent citizens  sitting  behind  me  enter  into  con- 
versation. The  first  intelligent  citizen,  whose 
face  is  fringed  with  a  gray  beard,  and  whose 
mouth  looks  as  though  it  had  been  used  to 
hang  him  up  by  when  he  was  young,  wanted 
to  know  of  the  second  intelligent  citizen  what 
the  lecture  was  about.  The  second  intelligent 
citizen,  a  tall,  brown-bearded  man,  who  wrinkles 
his  forehead  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  in  an  ap- 
parently agonized  effort  to  keep  his  eyes  open, 
while  he  stares  feebly  out  at  the  world  through 
a  pair  of  eye-glasses,  and  who  tucks  his  long 
hair  under  at  the  ends  until  he  looks  like  a 
blood  relation  of  the  jack  of  clubs,  says,  '-it 
wan't  much  account ;  it  was  abeout  a  man — some 
man  he  knew — a  kind  of  a  boy — boy — sort  of  a 
kind  of  a  boy — or  a  man— man  died,  he  be- 
lieved ;  boy  shaved  himself— some  boy  ;  it 
wan't  much  acceount ;  wan't  worth  listening 
to." 

I  am  greatly  pleased,  but  I  have  my  revenge. 


158  RAILWAY    CRITICISM, 

I  draw,  on  my  paper  block,  pictures  of  the 
''jack  of  clubs,"  and  make  his  nose  enormously 
long.  There  is  a  look  of  a  school  teacher  about  • 
the  "jack"  that  reminds  me  of  my  school  days, 
and  I  never  yet  saw  the  time,  when  I  wore 
jackets,  that  I  could  not  wreak  a  terrible  and 
all-satisfying  vengeance  upon  a  teacher  for  any 
insult  or  indignity,  by  drawing  pictures  of  him 
on  my  old  slate.  I  can  make  better,  that  is, 
worse,  pictures  now  than  I  could  then,  and  my 
revenge  is  correspondingly  more  terrible  and 
satisfying.  The  "jack  of  clubs"  gets  of!  at 
Carthage. 

I  am  so  far  quieted  and  reconciled  by  my 
revenge  that  I  sadly  tear  up  my  ugly  pictures 
and  look  regretfully  at  the  tall  figure  and  the 
long  hair  as  they  go  plodding  off  through  the 
snow,  and  I  wish  I  hadn't  made  the  nose  so 
long  nor  the  eyes  so  "  poppy."  Poor  old  "  left 
bower,"  I  take  it  all  back,  and  I  will  never  be 
so  mean  again. 

But  then  a  fellow  shouldn't  rattle  a  fellow 
by  sitting  down  right  behind  a  fellow  and  run- 
ning down  a  fellow's  lecture. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  story  they  tell  of  Josh 
Billings,   one  of  the  best  of  the  multitude  of 


USES    OF    ROPE.  159 

good  things  BilliDgs  says.  Some  one  asked  him 
if  he  ever  stood  at  the  door  of  the  hall  and  lis- 
tened to  his  audience  comment  on  his  lecture 
as  they  passed  out. 

"I  did — once,"  the  philosopher  replied,  very 
solemnly,  "but,"  he  added,  after  a  long  and 
impressive  pause,  "  I  will  never  do  it  again." 


USES   OF   ROPE. 

Whex  a  guest  at  a  hotel  sees  the  porter  car- 
rying a  coil  of  rope  three  hundred  feet  long  into 
his  room,  a  feeling  of  tranquil  security  comes 
over  him,  and  he  lies  down  to  sleep  without  a 
thought  of  fear.  But  when  a  boy  sees  his 
father  coming  up-stairs  to  his  room  with  only 
the  little  end  of  a  rope,  not  more  than  two  feet 
long,  with  a  knot  at  one  end,  it  kindles  a  con- 
flagration of  wild  apprehension  and  terror  in  his 
soul  that  all  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi  valley 
cannot  quench. 


160  SQUATTER  SOVEREIGNTY. 


SQUATTER  SOVEREIGNTY. 

We  have  left  Chicago,  and  on  the  best  road 
in  the  world  we  are  whirling  along  toward  Bur- 
lington. I  go  out  into  the  dining  car  to  eat.  I 
come  back,  and  lo,  a  family  has  "  sqnatted  "  in 
my  seat.  The  patriarch  and  matriarch,  two  chil- 
dren and  a  short  ton  of  baggage.  I  am  inclined 
to  get  mad,  and  I  think,  indeed,  I  do  make  a 
pretty  good  start  at  it.  I  jerk  my  overcoat 
angrily  away  from  the  recumbent  shoulders  of 
the  honest,  but  not  stylish,  agriculturist  who 
has  made  a  mattress  of  it,  and  glare  savagely 
down  at  a  little  bundle  of  blue  and  white  bag- 
gage that  these  people  have  piled  up  on  my 
seat. 

And  lo,  while  I  glare,  a  tiny,  dimpled  hand 
peeps  out  of  the  folds  of  the  blue  cloak,  with 
dainty  nails,  tinted  like  a  shell  ;  a  flossy  little 
halo  of  silky  hair,  white  lids  closed  over  the 
blue  eyes,  long  lashes  that  fringe  the  white 
lids — ah,  the  baby  is  welcome  to  all  the  seat. 
Who  can  keep  cross  at  the  baby  ?  Poor  little 
dot,  it  will  have  to  fight  for  its  privileges  after 
awhile.     Instead  of  spreading  out  over  a  whole 


SQUATTER   SOVEREIGNTY.  161 

seat  that  belongs  to  somebody  else,  it  will  be 
happy  if  it  is  strong  enough  to  capture  and 
hold  one  half  of  the  wood  box.  So  I  hunt  for 
another  seat,  and  I  really  feel  glad  to  let  the 
baby  have  mine. 

It  is  all  I  am  going  to  subscribe,  though,  you 
bet.  I  take  another  seat,  and  a  sweet-voiced, 
truthful-looking  woman  tells  me  it  belongs  to 
her  little  boy. 

Well,  I  say,  he  can  sit  with  me. 

But,  she  says,  there  are  two  of  them. 

They  are  not  visible,  however,  and  they  do 
not  jjppear  all  the  rest  of  the  trip.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  those  boys  are  not  yet  born. 

Another  boy  belonging  to  the  family  that 
took  my  seat  turns  up  in  a  few  minutes  and 
disputes  possession  of  the  seat  I  finally  occupy. 
But  the  line  has  to  be  drawn  somewhere,  and  I 
draw  it  at  the  baby.  A  boy  loses  a  powerful 
sight  of  beauty  between  eleven  months  and 
eleven  years.  So  I  am  not  moved  by  any  ten- 
der emotion  toward  the  boy. 

I  give  him  the  end  of  the  seat  next  the  win- 
dow,   however,    because  it  is  mean,  it  is  dirt 
mean,   to  make  a  boy  on  his  travels  sit  away 
from  the  car  window. 
11 


102  SQUATTER   SOVEREIGNTY. 

Then,  the  window  is  broken  and  there  is  a 
strong  draft  blowing  in,  which  will  not  hurt  the 
boy,  while  I  must  take  care  of  myself.  Mr. 
Tilden's  health  is  failing.  General  Grant  is 
reported  insane,  and  there  must  be  somebody 
saved  to  be  president  of  this  unhappy  coun- 
try. 

There  is  a  woman  behind  me  who  talks  bass. 
Just  now  she  asked  the  train  boy  the  price  of 
his  apples,  and  I  thought  it  was  a  man  talking 
under  the  car.  She  is  a  large  woman.  If  she 
wasn  t,  it  would  tear  her  to  pieces  every  time 
she  said  "good  morning." 

We  stopped  at  Buda  and  a  young  man  who 
wants  to  get  off  has  to  ask  a  i)ortion  of  the 
family  that  "squatted"  in  my  seat,  to  get  off 
his  overcoat,  and  to  take  their  feet  off  his  valise. 
I  really  cannot  express  a  feeling  of  resentment 
at  this  excessively  diffusive  family.  It  seems 
to  have  jumped  all  the  claims  in  the  car  while 
the  rest  of  us  w^ere  out  at  dinner.  I  don't  mind 
the  baby  ;  not  a  bit  of  it.  The  baby  is  more 
than  welcome  to  my  seat,  and  it  can  have  my 
watch  to  play  with,  if  it  wants  it  ;  but  I  do  i)ro- 
test  against  the  colonizing  tendencies  of  the  rest 
of  his  family.     They  seem  to  sit  on  everybody's 


SQUATTER  SOVEREIGNTY. 


163 


things  except  their  own,  and  their  numerous 
feet  are  on  all  the  valises  in  the  car. 

They  are  too  awfully  diffusive. 

There  now,  I  knew  there  was  something 
ailed  me.  I  needed  vent.  I  was  carrying  too 
much  steam.  Bat  I  feel  better  now,  and  unless 
this  family  should  develop  a  new  column 
in  some  unexpected  direction — but  no,  the 
woman  who  talks  bass  is  at  it  again,  and  the 
Swede  baby  that  has  been  crying  in  the  forward 
part  of  the  car  for  the  past  sixty-eight  miles,  is 
awed  into  wondering  silence. 


A    SOULLESS    MOlN'OrOLY 


The  man  with  the  family  has  just  got  up  and 
gone  into  the  seat  of  a  commercial  traveler  who 


164  TWO   KIXDS   OF    SUGAR. 

just  this  minute  went   into  tlie  smoking  car. 
The  man  is  now  curling  up  for  a  nap. 

I  can  write  no  more.  There  is  a  limit  to 
human  patience,  and  the  contemplation  of  this 
man's  repeated  invasions  and  steady  acquisition 
of  territory,  maddens.  There  are  only  seven  of 
his  family,  but  they  now  occupy  thirteen  whole 
seats,  and  from  his  vantage  ground  in  the 
drummer's  seat,  the  head  of  the  family  is  look- 
ing out  for  more. 


TWO   KINDS   OF   SUGAR. 

^'TiiE  first  Napoleon,"  remarked  Mr.  Mid- 
dlerib,  "introduced  into  France  the  manufac- 
ture of  beet  sugar,  and  it  is  to-day  an  important 
industry  in  our  own  country."  "Yes,"  said 
Master  Middlerib,  in  a  subdued  tone  of  coun- 
tenance, "I  tasted  some  of  it  to-day."  "  Tasted 
some  of  what?"  inquired  his  father,  sharply. 
"Beech  sugar,"  said  the  boy  wearily,  and  then 
he  drew  closer  to  the  table  and  sat  more  specifi- 
cally on  the  edge  of  his  chair.  And  silence  fell 
on  the  family  like  a  fog. 


ENVOI.  165 


EXYOI. 


Over  tlie  land  where  the  hoop  poles  grow, 

(*Benjamin,  Benjamin,  draw  it  mild  ,) 

Daintily  drifted  the  beautiful  snow, 

Whirling  and  eddying,  free  and  wild. 

Nobody  knew  what  it  came  there  for, 

Kobody  wanted  it,  every  one  swore. 

But  it  drifted  and  eddied  just  all  the  more, 

Till  up  to  the  chimney  tops  it  piled. 

Oh,  somehow  or  other  I  want  to  be — 

(Lay  him  to  rest  with  his  ulster  on  ;) 

"Where  never  a  flake  of  snow  I'll  see. 

While  the  changing  seasons  come  and  gone.f 

I'd  like  to  get  up  in  the  voiceless  night, 

And  wing  my  rapid,  unwearied  flight, 

To  some  sunny  clime  of  pure  delight. 

Where  never  a  snowflake  flecks  the  dawn. 

Come  with  your  perfumed  robes,  winds  of  May, 
(Pull  her  wide  open  and  give  her  sand  ;) 

*  The  question  may  be  asked,  "  TThat  has  this  line  to  do 
with  it  ?"  In  reply  to  this  piece  of  unwarranted  imperti- 
nence, I  have  simply  to  ask  the  reader,  "  What  is  that  your 
business  ?" 

t  This  should  be  "come  and  go,"  but  "go"'  wouldn't 
rh3"me. 


166  THE   FIRST    BUTTON   MAN. 

Wrapped  in  your  tender  arms,  bear  nie  away 

Into  some  faii'v,  enchanted  land, 
Where  the  slumbering  winter  can  never  awake, 
Where  the  snow  clouds  never  loom  up  and  break, 
Where  there  ain't*  enough  winter  to  frost  a  cake, 
Give  me  a  ticket  to  that  fair  land. 


THE  FIRST  BUTTON   MAN; 

Samuel  Willistox,  the  first  inaniifacturer 
of  buttons  in  the  United  States,  is  seventy-three 
years  old,  and  worth  six  million  dollars.  He 
has  made  half  the  buttons  nsed  in  the  world, 
and  has  never  yet  made  a  snspender  button 
that  would  hold  its  grip  and  not  lly  off  and 
rattle  across  the  floor  every  time  a  man  stooped 
to  x^ick  up  his  hat  in  church.  He  was  the  first 
man  who  manufactured  a  tin  button  that  looked 
enough  like  a  silver  five-cent  piece  to  fool 
a  short-sighted  deacon  with  a  contribution 
basket. 

*  "Isn't "  would  be  more  grammatical,  but  it  wouldnl 
fit  in  half  so  well. 


PA   AXD    THE    BABY.  167 


PA  AXD  THE  BABY. 

After  we  left  Vincennes  this  afternoon,  a 
man  got  on  with  his  wife  and  two  children. 
One  of  the  little  ones,  a  boy  three  years  old  or 
over,  was  fretful  and  weej^ful,  and  the  father 
did  his  best,  and  in  the  tenderest,  patientesfc 
manner,  to  quiet  the  child  and  put  him  to  sleep. 
How  the  little  fellow  did  cry  and  kick,  and 
throw  things  around.  He  had  been  crying  that 
way,  the  man  said,  all  daylong,  and  he  couldn't 
imagine  what  ailed  him.  He  "allowed  he 
might  have  the  earache."  The  passengers  were 
full  of  sympathy,  for  which,  as  they  strove  to 
express  it  in  various  ways,  the  father  appeared 
unspeakably  grateful  for,  and  the  boy  indig- 
nantly repelled.  One  man  gave  him  an  orange  ; 
the  boy  hurled  it  spitefully  into  the  face  of  his 
baby  sister,  sleeping  in  the  mother's  lap,  and 
the  terrified  young  lady  added  her  wail  of  fright 
and  pain  to  the  general  chorus.  A  lady  gave 
him  her  handsome  smelling-bottle  ;  he  dashed 
it  on  the  floor  and  howled  more  fiercely  than 
ever.  I  handed  the  poor  little  innocent  my 
pocket  knife  ;  away  it  went  out  of  the  car  win- 


168  PA    AND    THE    BABY. 

do^y  and  the  urchin  wailed  more  indignantly 
than  ever.  All  the  time  the  father  never  got 
cross  or  grew  impatient,  but  "  allowed  he  could 
hush  him  off  to  sleep  after  a  bit." 

And  by  and  by,  sure  enough,  the  pain  and 
impatience  yielded  to  the  father's  patient  sooth- 
ing, the  little  head  dropped  over  on  the  father  s 
shoulder,  the  broken  sobs  became  less  and  less 
frequent,  and  finally  died  away,  and  the  poor 
little  fellow  just  began  to  forget  his  troubles  in 
sleep  as  the  train  slowed  up  to  a  station,  when 
suddenly  the  father,  walking  up  and  down  the 
aisle  with  him,  darted  a  glance  out  of  the  win- 
dow, stooped  down  and  looked  again,  and 
shouted : 

"  What's  the  matter  with  that  man  ?" 

"  Hello  !"  he  shouted.  "  Here,  Emily,  take 
him — watch  him — here!  I  can't  wait!  Don't 
let  him  roll  off  !     Watch  him  !" 

With  a  hasty  motion  he  tossed  the  baby  into 
the  seat  behind  his  wife,  getting  him  just  about 
half-way  on.  He  gave  a  hurried  jab  at  the  boy 
with  his  extended  fingers,  to  push  him  further 
on  the  seat,  but  missed  him,  and  darted  off  to 
the  door  of  the  car,  shot  out  of  it  and  was  down 
on  the  platform  in  a  flash.     The  mother  quickly 


PA   AXD     THE   BABY.  169 

l^nt  down  the  smaller  child  and  turned  to  attend 
to  the  boy,  two  or  three  passengers  at  the  same 
time  sjjrang  forward  with  the  same  purpose — 
all  too  late;  before  the  father  was  w^ell  out  of 
the  door,  the  boy  toppled  off  the  seat,  came  to 
the  floor  with  a  thump  and  a  howl  of  real  pain 
and  fright,  and  w^hen  the  father,  looking 
sheepish  and  cheap,  came  back  into  the  car,  the 
poor  little  fellow,  wide  awake  to  all  his  old 
miseries  and  the  one  crowning,  insulted  new 
one,  was  screaming  away  at  a  rate  that  fairly 
made  the  windows  rattle,  and  he  kept  it  up 
until  we  got  to  Terre  Haute,  and  I  don't  know 
how  long  after  that.  And  all  this  time  nobody 
else  had  been  able  to  see  anything  to  excite  the 
father  to  such  a  remarkable  degree,  and  he  saw 
our  wonder  in  our  countenances. 

''The  man  was  a  coal  miner,"  he  explained, 
as  he  took  the  screaming  boy,  "and  I  reckon 
he'd  been  loadin'  a  car  of  coal  and  got  his  face 
smutty." 

Our  amazement  looked  out  of  our  eyes 
greater  than  ever. 

"An'  I  thought,"  continued  the  father, 
nervously  patting  the  boy's  back,  and  seeing 
that   some  further    explanation  was  necessary 


170  THE    QUIET   OF   THE    TOMB. 

and  expected,  "I  thougLt  his  eye  was  blacked, 
an'  I  -lowed  maybe  there' d  ben  a  fight." 

MOEAL. 

The  profound  silence,  excepting  the  boy's 
wailing,  which  didn't  count,  which  followed 
this  explanation,  was  broken  at  last  by  the  man 
from  Sullivan,  who  was  sitting  back  by  the 
stove,  and  remarked  in  solemn  and  impressive 
tones : 

"  What  shadders  we  are  and  what  shadders 
we  pursue." 


THE  QUIET  OF  THE  TOMB. 

"  Algeexon  "  sends  us  a  poem  in  which  he 
declares,  "There  is  rest  forme  in  the  silent 
tomb."  Oh,  there  is,  is  there  ?  Yes,  there  is  ; 
lots  of  it.  You  try  it.  You'll  find  out  how 
much  rest  there  is  in  the  silent  tomb  with  half 
a  dozen  medical  students  digging  in  after  you 
and  fighting  over  you.  You  crawl  into  the 
tomb  for  a  little  quiet  time,  if  you  want  to, 
Algernon,  but  you  just  take  your  revolver  with 
you,  all  the  same. 


AVJIEX    HE   SVv'OKE. 


171 


WHEX    HE    SWOEE. 


THE  SCENE  OF  GEORGE  S  PROFANITY. 

(rnOJl    A    SKETCH    BT    OUR    SPECIAl,  ARTIST 
ON    THE    SPOT.; 


Shortly  after 
the  battle  of 
]\I  o  n  m  o  u  t  h , 
Washington,  his 
brow  contracted 
with  thought  and 
shadowed  with 
gloom,  stood  out  in  the  back  yard.  It  was 
midnight,  and  the  sinking  moon  cast  a 
strange,  weird  pallor  over  the  darkening  land- 
scape. The  Father  of  his  Country  held  a 
shot-gun  in  his  hands,  the  smoke  still  wreath- 
ing slowly  above    his    head.     It  was  evident 


172  THE    ClIAMPIOX   DOG. 

that  liis  slumbers  had  been  disturbed.  "I 
feel/'  he  said,  passing  his  hand  across  his 
throbbing  brow,  ' '  I  feel  like  one  who,  from  a  ■* 
lofty  height,  looks  down  upon  the  mighty  tor- 
rent of  resistless  Niagara."  And  then,  with  one 
last  glance  at  the  cat  he  wrecked,  he  turned . 
toward  the  house  and  tried  to  tell  his  staff  what 
he  had  said  ;  but  alas,  he  conldn  t  remember  it, 
and  when  they  tried  to  laugh  out  of  courtesy, 
the  sleepy  cackle  betrayed  the  hollowness  of 
the  effort.     It  was  then  that  Washington  swore. 


THE  CHAMPIOX  DOG. 

A  MAX  up  on  Xorth  Hill  is  just  the  maddest 
man.  He  went  to  Philadelphia  and  paid  8320 
for  a  pure  blood  bird  dog,  with  a  pedigree 
longer  than  the  chronological  table  of  the  kings 
of  England,  and  the  dog  hadn't  been  home  two 
days  before  the  next  door  neighbor  killed  him 
with  a  brick  in  his  hen  house,  where  the  thor- 
oughbred was  sucking  eggs.  Blood  is  as  uncer- 
tain and  rare  in  a  dog  as  it  is  in  a  South  Amer- 
ican battle. 


TRAIN   MANNERS.  173 


TRAIN    MAXXERS. 


Genesee. — A  woman  with  three  bird-cages 
and  a  little  girl  has  just  got  on  the  train.  She 
arranges  the  three  bird-cages  on  a  seat,  and 
then  she  and  the  little  girl  stand  up  in  the  aisle, 
and  she  glares  around  upon  the  ungallant  men 
who  remain  glued  to  their  seats,  and  look 
dreamily  out  of  the  window.  I  bend  my  face 
down  to  the  tablet  and  write  furiously,  for  I 
feel  her  eyes  fastened  upon  me.  Somehow  or 
other,  I  am  always  the  victim  in  cases  of  this 
delicate  nature.  Just  as  I  expected.  She 
speaks,  fastening  her  commanding  gaze  upon 
me  : 

"Sir,  would  it  be  asking  too  much  if  I 
begged  you  to  let  myself  and  my  little  girl  have 
that  seat  ?  A  gentleman  can  always  find  a  seat 
so  much  more  easily  than  a  lady." 

And  she  smiled.  Xot  the  charmingest  kind 
of  a  smile.  It  was  too  triumphant  to  be  very 
pleasing.     Of  course  I  surrendered.     I  said  : 

"Oh,  certainly,  certainly.  I  could  find  an- 
other seat  without  any  trouble." 

She  thanked  me,  and  I  crawled  out  of  my 


174  TRAIN   MANNEKS. 

comfortable  seat,  and  gathered  np  my  overcoat, 
my  manuscript,  my  shawl-strap  package,  my 
valise,  and  my  overshoes,  and  she  and  the  little 
girl  went  into  the  vacant  premises  as  soon  as 
the  writ  of  ejectment  had  been  served,  and  they 
looked  happy  and  comfortable. 

Then  I  stepped  across  the  aisle ;  I  took  up 
those  bird-cages  and  set  them  along  on  top  of 
the  coal  box,  and  sat  down  in  the  seat  thus 
Tacated.  I  apologetically  remarked  to  the 
woman,  who  was  gazing  at  me  with  an  expres- 
sion that  boded  trouble,  that  "it  was  much 
warmer  for  the  canaries  up  by  the  stove."  She 
didn't  say  anything,  but  she  gave  me  a  look 
that  made  it  much  warmer  for  me,  for  about 
five  minutes,  than  the  stove  can  make  it  for  the 
canaries. 

Belvidere. — A  woman  has  just  gone  out  of 
the  car  and  left  the  door  wide,  wide  open,  and 
the  wind  is  blowing  through  the  coach  a  hun- 
dred miles  a  minute.  Why  is  it  that  a  woman 
never  shuts  a  car  door  ?  Also,  why  does  a  man 
always  leave  it  open  ?  And,  indeed,  why  no- 
body ever  shuts  it  except  the  brakeman,  and  he 
only  closes  it  for  the  sake  of  the  noise  he  can 
make  with  it. 


TRAIN    MAXXERS.  175 

Yesterday  morning,  I  saw  a  man  go  ont  of  a 
car,  and  shut  the  door  after  him.  I  have  trav- 
eled very  constantly  for  nearly  three  years,  and 
this  was  the  first  man  I  ever  saw  shut  the  car 
door  after  him  as  he  went  ont. 

And  he  only  shut  it  because  I  was  right  be- 
hind him,  trying  to  get  out,  with  a  big  valise  in 
each  hand.  When  I  set  down  my  valises  to 
open  the  door,  I  made  a  few  remarks  on  tlie 
general  subject  of  people  who  would  get  up  in 
the  night  to  do  the  wrong  thing  at  the  wrong 
time,  but  the  man  was  out  on  the  platform,  and 
failed  to  catch  the  drift  of  my  remark. 

I  was  not  sorry  for  this,  because  the  other 
passengers  seemed  to  enjoy  it  quite  as  well  by 
themselves,  and  the  man  whose  action  called 
forth  this  impromptu  address  was  a  forbidding 
looking  man,  as  big  as  a  hay  wagon,  and  looked 
as  though  he  would  have  banged  me  clear 
through  the  side  of  a  box  car  if  he  had  heard 
what  I  said. 

I  suppose  these  people  who  invariably  do 
the  wrong  things  at  the  wrong  time  are  neces- 
sary, but  they  are  awfully  unpleasant. 

Cuba. — A  woman  gets  on  the  train  and  says 
a  very  warm-hearted  good-by  to  a  great  cub  of 


176  TRAIX    MAXXERS. 

a  sixteen-year-old  boy  who  sets  down  lier  bnn- 
.dles  and  turns  to  leave  the  car  with  a  <2:rulf 
grunt  that  may  mean  good-by  or  anything 
else.  There  is  a  little  quiver  on  her  lip  as  she 
calls  after  him,  "Be  a  good  boy,  write  to  me 
often,  and  do  as  I  tell  you."  He  never  looks 
around  as  he  leaves  the  car.  He  looks  just  like 
the  kind  of  a  boy  who  will  do  just  as  she  tells 
him,  but  she  must  be  careful  to  tell  him  to 
do  just  as  he  wants  to.  I  have  one  bright 
spark  of  consolation  as  the  train  moves  on  and 
I  see  that  boy  performing  a  clumsy  satire  on  a 
clog  dance,  on  the  platform.  Some  of  these 
days  he  will  treat  some  man  as  gruffly  and 
rudely  as  he  treats  his  mother.  Then  the  man 
will  climb  onto  him  and  lick  him  ;  pound  the 
very  saw^lust  out  of  him.  Then  the  world  will 
feel  better  and  happier  for  the  licking  he  gets. 
It  may  be  long  deferred,  but  it  will  come  at  last. 
I  almost  wish  I  had  pounded  him  myself,  while 
he  is  young  and  I  felt  able  to  do  it.  He  may 
grow  up  into  a  very  discouragingly  rugged 
man,  extremely  difficult  to  lick,  and  the  world 
may  have  to  wait  a  very  long  time  for  this  act  of 
justice.  It  frequently  happens  that  these  bad 
boys  grow  up  into  distressingly  "  bad  "  men. 


TRAIN   MAXXERS.  l7t 

"We  have  got  as  far  as  Hinsdale,  and  here  we 
Lave  ceased  to  progress.  The  experienced  pas- 
sengers sit  as  patiently  as  the  train  itself.  The 
inexperienced  ones  fly  around  and  tramp  in  and 
out  and  leave  the  door  open,  and  ply  the  train 
men  and  the  operator  with  numerous  questions. 
Sometimes  the  train  men  answer  their  questions, 
and  then  sometimes  they  do  not  answer  them. 
When  they  do  reply  to  the  eager  conundrums, 
somehow  or  other  the  passenger  always  feels  as 
though  he  knew  a  little  less  than  he  did  before. 
It  is  a  cruel,  deceitful  old  world,  in  snow^  time. 

A  man  has  gone  to  the  front  seat,  and  is 
warming  his  feet  by  planting  the  soles  of  his 
boots  against  the  side  of  the  stove.  As  he 
wears  India  rubber  boots,  the  effect  is  marked, 
but  not  pleasant. 

As  usual,  the  drinking  boy  is  on  the  car. 
He  has  laid  regular  siege  to  the  water  tank,  and 
I  think  will  empty  it  before  we  get  to  Sala- 
manca. I  wish  to  call  the  attention  of  the  tem- 
perance societies  to  this  class  of  intemperates. 
There  should  be  a  pledge  drawn  up  and  some 
color  of  ribbon — a  bit  of  w^atered  silk  would  be 
appropriate,  I  suppose — for  boys  of  six  and 
seven  years,  who  are  addicted  to  drinking  water 

12 


178  •    TRAIN   MANXERS. 

at  the  rate  of  eigliteen  tin-cupfals  a  minute. 
Ten  or  twelve  boys  of  this  class  can  drink  a 
creek  dry  when  they  are  feeling  comfortably 
thirsty. 

A  friendly  passenger  wants  to  talk.  I  am 
not  feeling  particularly  sociable  this  morning, 
and  consequently  I  do  not  propose  to  talk  to 
anybody.  He  asks  how  I  like  this  kind  of 
weather,  and  I  say,  "Splendidly." 

He  laughs  feebly,  but  encouragingly,  and 
says  there  has  been  a  little  too  much  snow.  I 
say,  "Xot  for  health,  it  was  just  what  we 
needed.'' 

He  asks  if  I  heard  of  the  accident  on  the 
Central  Railroad,  and  I  say,  "Yes." 

Then  he  asks  me  how  it  was,  and  I  tell  him, 
"I  don't  know^ ;  didn't  read  it." 

He  wants  to  know  what  I  think  of  Hayes, 
and  I  say,  "  I  think  he  made  a  very  good  con- 
stable." 

"  Constable  r'  he  says,  "I  mean  President 
Hayes." 

I  say  I  thought  he  meant  Dennis  Hays,  of 
Peoria. 

Then  he  asks  if  I  "am  going  far  ?" 
I  say,  "Xo." 


TEAiN  man:ners.  179 

*'How  far?"  he  asks. 

•'Fourteen  hundred  miles,"  I  say,  unblush- 
ingly. 

He  thinks  that  is  what  he  would  call  "  far," 
and  I  make  no  response.  Two  babies  in  the  car 
are  rehearsing  a  little  and  in  rather  faulty  time, 
but  with  fine  expression.  And  the  man,  with 
one  or  two  "dashes,"  asks  if  it  doesn't  bother 
me  to  write  with  a  lot  of  "brats  squalling 
around  ?" 

I  looked  up  at  him  very  severely,  for  it 
always  makes  me  angrj^  to  hear  a  man  call  a 
baby  a  "brat,"  and  I  say  to  him,  in  a  slow, 
impressive  manner,  that  "  I  would  rather  listen 
to  a  baby  cry  than  hear  a  man  swear." 

This  eminentlj^  proper  and  highly  moral 
rebuke  has  its  effect.  The  man  forsakes  me, 
and  he  is  now  wreaking  a  cheap,  miserable 
revenge  on  the  smiling  passengers  by  whistling 
"  My  Grandfather's  Clock,"  accompanying 
himself  by  drumming  on  the  window  with  his 
fingers. 


180  THE  ZEPHYRS   OF   MAINE. 


THE  ZEPHYRS   OF  MAIXE. 

There  is  only  one  drawback  to  the  glorious 
old  State  of  Maine,  and  that  is  not  a  natural 
obstacle.  It  is  an  error  of  education,  and  is  not 
a  general  error  either.  It  is  confined  to  the 
railroad  men.  They  have  received  the  impres- 
sion, from  what  sources  and  through  what 
teaching  I  know  not,  that  a  passenger  coach  is 
comfortably  warm  at  zero,  is  rather  sultry  at 
ten  degrees  above,  and  is  positively  destructive 
to  human  life  at  twenty-five  degrees.  When 
the  trains  stop  at  a  station  it  is  pitiful  to  see 
the  passengers  rush  out  of  the  car  and  stand  on 
the  platform  to  get  warm.  When  you  ask  a 
brakeman  on  the  Maine  Central  to  put  another 
stick  of  wood  in  the  stove,  he  stares  at  you  in 
amazement  for  a  moment  and  then  reaches  up 
and  opens  a  ventilator.  If  you  should  say  it 
again,  I  believe  he  would  kick  out  the  end  of 
the  car.  The  stove  doors  on  these  cars  are  kept 
locked,  so  the  passengers  cannot  manii:>ulate 
the  fires.  If  this  were  not  the  case,  I  am  afraid 
the  six  sticks  of  wood  brought  into  the  car  at 
Bath  would  not  have  lasted  more  than  half  way 
to  Boston.     As  it  w^as,  under  the  economical 


THE    RISING    GENERATION.  181 

administration  of  the  brakeman  they  lasted  all 
the  way  to  Boston  and  part  of  the  way  back. 


THE  RISING  GENERATION. 

An  intellectual  young  man,  a  promising 
student  just  back  from  Brown  University,  was 
met  at  the  Union  depot  by  an  elderly  man,  who 
made  a  grasp  at  the  young  man's  hands,  and 
even  essayed  to  clasp  him  in  his  arms.  The 
young  man  shook  hands  with  the  enthusiastic 
native  in  a  non-commital  sort  of  way,  and  said, 
in  not  unfriendly  tones,  "Well,  indeed,  my 
dear  fellah— I  really — your  face  is  rather  famil- 
iar ;  it  seems  to  me  I  have  met  you  somewhere, 
and  yet  I  can't  exactly  place  you."  And  as 
the  father  gazed  at  his  distinguished  son  in 
dumb  amazement,  and  thought  how  onh^  live 
years  ago  he  had  distributed  thoroughbred 
welts  and  orthodox  blisters  all  around  his 
youthful  back  with  a  piece  of  lath,  for  taking 
the  old  man's  razor  to  trim  off  a  shinny  club,  he 
sighed,  and  went  back  to  the  office  with  an  un- 
alterable determination  to  bind  out  his  other 
sons  to  shoemakers  and  blacksmiths. 


182  THE    AMENITIES   OF   TRAVEL. 


THE  AMEXITIES  OF  TRAVEL. 

How  hot  and  dusty  it  is  I  How  dirty  and 
grimy  everybody  looks  !  How  cross  and  un- 
obliging and  disgraceful  everybody  feels  !  The 
cars  are  crowded,  and  everybody  is  wishing 
everybody  else  was  out  of  the  way.  The  wo- 
man in  front  of  me  has  dropped  her  shawl  on 
the  floor.  She  is  not  young  or  handsome,  but 
she  is  a  woman.  Her  face  has  a  harsh,  for- 
bidding expression,  but  withal,  I  think  I  can  see 
tender  lines  about  the  mouth.  It  is  a  face  that 
has  seen  trouble.  Poor  woman  !  Perhaps  she 
has  raised  eleven  children,  and  now  she  has 
them  all,  with  their  husbands  and  wives,  to  sup- 
port. No  wonder  she  looks  tired  and  worn  and 
repellent.  If  she  was  young  and  pretty,  as  she 
was  thirty  years  ago,  a  dozen  men  would  spring 
forward  to  snatch  her  shawl  from  the  dusty 
floor,  and  bow  themselves  crooked  handing  it 
to  her.  Now  we  look  at  it,  and  feel  too  dusty 
even  to  tell  her  where  it  is.  A  commercial 
traveler  walks  down  the  aisle,  and  steps  care- 
fully over  it.  A  woman  goes  down  the  other 
way    and    thoughtlessly   steps   on   it.     I  feel 


THE    AMENITIES    OF   TRAVEL. 


183 


ashamed  of  myself,  and  pity  the  poor,  homely 
woman.  With  an  effort  I  rise  from  my  seat, 
I  stoop  to  pick  up  the  neglected  shawl, 

"  Madam,"  I  say,  and — oh,  if  my  son's 
mother  could  see  that  smile, — "Madam,  per- 
mit me  ;  your  shawl " 

I  stopped  right  there.  For  as  I  picked  up 
the  neglected  shawl,  out  of  its  voluminous  folds 
fell  thumping  and  rattling  to  the  floor  a  paper 
bag,  badly  fractured,  full  of  crackers,  a  tin  can, 
some  remnants  of  an 
ancient  lunch,  a  six- 
inch  bologna  bit  off  at 
one  end,  and  a  bottle 
of  milk,  the  latter  un- 
corking itself  as  it 
fell.  The  poor  neg- 
lected woman  did  not 
seem  to  be  transported 
with  gratitude  for 
my  attention.  She 
snatched  the  shawl 
away    from    me    and 

said,    with    apparent  KI^-D.xE8s  kewarded. 

vexation  : 

"  There  now,    drat  ye,   looky  at  ye,   what 


184  NAMING    THE    BAEY. 

you've  done.  Why  can't  ye  mind  yer  own  bus- 
iness and  leave  other  people's  things  alone  ? " 

A  ripple  of  subdued  hilarity  passed  through 
the  car,  and  I  resumed  my  seat,  fully  resolved 
that  if  the  most  extravagantly  lovely  and  lov- 
ing girl  that  ever  blessed  this  world  of  ugly 
men  should  come  into  that  car,  and  her  head 
should  fall  off  her  shoulders  and  drop  into  my 
lap,  I  would  kick  it  savagely  out  of  the  window 
and  snarl, 

"  Keei:>  your  lumpy  old  woodeny  punkin 
head  out  of  the  way,  if  you  don't  want  it 
tromped  onto.  " 


KAMIXG  THE  BABY. 

A  lovixct  couple  on  West  Hill  had  promised 
an  old  bachelor  friend  to  name  their  first  baby 
after  him.  They  wanted  to  keep  their  pledge, 
but  after  debating  and  planning  and  contriv- 
ing until  the  baby  was  sixteen  days  old,  Thom- 
asetta  Jacobina  was  the  nearest  they  could  come 
to  it. 


A   SAD    CASE   OF    WIIOOPIXG   COUGH.         185 


A  SAD  CASE  OF  WHOOPIXG  COUGH. 

The  evening  I  went  down  to  Abingdon  the 
train  on  the  Qaincy  division  of  the  Chicago, 
Burlington  &  Quincj^  was  crowded,  of  course. 
It  always  is  that  way.  The  more  extra  cars 
they  put  on  at  Galesburg  the  more  people 
would  make  up  their  minds  to  go  on  that  train. 
So,  as  usual,  seats  were  at  a  premium.  I  man- 
aged to  get  a  whole  seat  all  to  myself  and  tried 
to  look  pleasant  and  inviting  at  people  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  cold  and  repelling  when  they  came 
up  close.  By  these  hoggish  tactics  I  hoped  to 
have  a  comfortable,  roomy  ride.  Just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  aisle  a  forlorn-looking  man 
had  two  seats  turned,  and  was  seated  in  the 
midst  of  his  five  children,  every  one  of  the 
juvenile  quintette  appearing  to  be  about  nine 
or  eleven  years  old,  all  white  headed,  and  wild- 
looking,  all  very  quiet,  and  apparently  awed 
by  the  crowd  and  commotion  on  board  and  the 
swift  motion  of  the  train. 

While  I  was  studying  the  odd-looking  family 
group  a  woman,  the  womanliest  kind  of  a  ma- 
tronly-looking mother  woman,  came  down  the 


186        A    SAD   CASE   OF   WIIOOPIXG   COUGH. 

aisle  leading  a  little  five-year-old,  and  she 
smiled  and  inquiringly  asked  me,  might  her 
little  girl  occupy  the  vacant  seat  beside  me? 

"Oh,  to  be  sure"  (smiling  sweetly,  as  I 
knovr  how  to  smile);  "  1  would  be  charmed,"  I 
said,  showing  my  fangs  clear  back  to  the  palate, 
"  to  take  care  of  the  little  Blossom  as  far  as  I 
went." 

"And  how  far  was  I  going?"  with  a  smile, 
responsive  in  sweetness  to  my  own  (the  carrier 
is  requested  not  to  leave  a  copy  of  this  issue  of 
The  Hawkeye  out  on  Barnes  street),  but  de- 
ficient in  responsive  size  about  seventeen  inches. 

"To  Qnincy,"  I  said,  increasing  my  smile 
till  my  cheeks  cracked.  I  was  only  going  to 
Abingdon,  350  miles  this  side  of  Quincy,  but  it 
is  so  hard  to  tell  the  truth  wiien  anybody  asks 
you  a  question  on  the  train.  You  get  so  used 
to  h^ing  to  the  conductor  about  losing  your 
ticket  and  one  thing  and  another. 

AVell,  she  went  away,  and  I  put  away  my 
pleasant  book,  and  prepared  to  bore  myself  to 
death  entertaining  a  strange  child  that  was 
already  beginning  to  cry  with  terror  at  my 
looks  before  1  said  a  word,  when  suddenly  the 
mother  came  swooping  down  the  aisle  like  a 


A   SAD   CASE   OF    WIIOOPIXG   COUGH.         187 

tornado,  lightning  in  lier  eje^  and  her  hands 
fairly  clenched.  I  was  afraid  she  thought,  from 
the  poor  child's  agonized  expression,  that  I  had 
been  sticking  pins  into  the  poor  innocent.  So 
I  ducked  my  head  and  threw  up  my  arms. 

"I  never  touched  her!"  I  shrieked,  as  the 
excited  woman  drew  up  along  side. 

To  my  great  relief  she  never  paid  a  bit  of 
attention  to  me.  She  caught  up  her  little  one 
and  turned  savagely  upon  the  man  with  a 
family,  opposite  me. 

''I  understand,"  she  gasped,  "your  chil- 
dren have  the  whooping  cough  ?" 

It  took  the  man  a  long  time  to  answer  her. 
At  last  he  seemed  to  comprehend  the  question, 
and  said,  very  deliberately  : 

"  Wal,  yes  ;  fact  is,  they  did  hev  it,  right 
smart,  but  I  don't  reckon  as  they's  much 
danger " 

The  mother  was  gone,  up  the  aisle,  through 
the  door,  into  the  fumigated  atmosphere  of  the 
smoking  car,  and  the  man  with  a  family  stopped 
speaking. 

In  a  moment  or  two  came  a  fond  father  with 
a  four-year-old  boy  in  his  arms.  He  sought 
out    the    vacant    seat.     He    "didn't    want    tc 


188        A   SAD   CASE   OF   WHOOPING   COUGIL 


sit    down    himself,"    lie    said,    apologetically, 
"but,"  with  great  urbanity,   "might  his  little 

boy " 

"Oh,  surely,"  I  said,  j^romptly,  "I  should 
be  onl}^  too  glad  to " 


"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  grateful 
father ;  the  boy  was  deposited  under  my  gra- 
cious and  fatherly  wing,  the  father  went  into 
the  smoking  car  to  see  a  man,  and  by  way  of 
opening  an  easy  conversation  with  the  boy,  I 
asked  him : 

"Do   you   not   find   that   traveling,  at   this 

uncertain  and  un- 
changeable sea- 
son of  the  year, 
with  its  sudden 
climatic  and 
atmospheric 
changes,  and  the 
o  V  e  r-c  r  o  w  d  e  d 
condition  of  the 
cars,  is  extremely 
uncomfortable  ?" 


HE    DONE    IT 


The  boy  began  to  cry. 
"Son,"  I  said,  sternly, 
or  rU  bust  your  crust." 


cheese  that  sniffle 


A   SAD    CASE   OF    WUOOPING    COUG  FT.         ISO 

The  child  broke  out  into  an  agonizing  howl, 
and  just  then  I  saw  his  father  dash  into  the 
door  and  come  galloping  down  the  aisle  like  a 
man  chasing  a  chromo  agent.  I  instinctively 
threw  up  my  guard  again,  ducked  my  head, 
and  cried  out,  without  indicating  any  particular 
man,  and  with  that  lofty  disregard  of  grammar 
that  comes  upon  us  in  moments  of  intense 
l>eril  : 

'•  Ee  done  it  !" 

Again  I  had  thrown  out  cautionary  signals 
when  there  was  no  danger.  The  frenzied  father 
merely  wheeled  around  with  his  boy  in  his 
arms  and  faced  the  man  with  a  family. 

''Sir  I"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you  know  you 
have  no  right  to  bring  your  children  on  the  cars 
when  they  have  the  whooping  cough  V 

The  man  with  a  family  looked  up  at  his 
questioner,  clawed  his  tawny,  unkempt  beard 
in  an  absent  manner,  and  finally  said : 

"  Wal,  ye  see  they  did  have  it  right  i>eart, 

but  I  allowed  they  wa  nt  much  danger  in " 

But  the  father  Hed  without  waiting  for 
explanations,  leaving  a  train  of  maledictions 
trailing  behind  him  as  he  went.  The  man  and 
his  family  never  said  a  word  to  each  other  and 


190        A    SAD   CASE   OF   WIIOOPIXG   COUGH. 

1  began  to  pitj^  them,  as  they  huddled  together 
and  looked  as  though  they  hadn't  a  friend  in 
the  world. 

'•Dog  gone  it,"  I  exclaimed  confidentially 
to  the  boy  of  the  party,  "  this  is  a  free  country. 
If  you've  got  the  whooping  cough,  wliy  whoop 
her  up  !  Whoop  thunder  out  of  the  old  thing  I'' 

The  boy  looked  up  at  his  fatlier  timidly,  and 
the  man  with  a  family  stared  at  me  for  a 
moment  and  said  : 

"  Wal,  ye  see,  he  did  hev  it  right  oncom- 
mon,  along  o'  the  rest  of  'em,  but  I  don't  allow- 
as  how " 

But  at  this  point  he  was  interrupted  again, 
this  time  by  a  little  woman  with  a  baby — a  fat, 
crowing,  laughing  baby.  An  emphatic  little 
wom.an,  who  measled  her  remarks  with  more 
italics  than  you'll  find  in  a  society  novel: 

Would  it  discommode  me  too  much  if  she 
and  baby  begged  for  that  vacant  seat  ? 

"  Oh,  cer-tainly  not,''  I  echoed,  sliding  over 
to  the  window  with  great  alacrity,  ^'in-deed  no, 
I  was  only  too  glad  to  be  of  any  service." 

"Oh,  tlieiiik  you,  thank  you  eter  so  much. 
It  was  so  disagreeable  riding  in  such  crowded 


A    SAD    CASE    OF   WIIOOPIXG    COCGII.         191 

''Oil,  dread-ful,  dread-iuI,*'  I  ejaculated, 
J  and  then  baby  crowed  and  the  emphatic  little 
woman  laughed,  a  merry,  mellow,  rippling 
laugh  that  made  baby's  eyes  dance  with  joy. 
I  laughed  a  great  rasping  guffaw  that  sounded 
like  a  crow  with  the  bronchitis,  and  frightened 
the  baby  into  a  fit  of  weeping.  I  felt  awk- 
wardly enough,  but  just  then  my  attention  was 
attracted  to  the  conductor,  who  was  talking  to 
the  man  with  a  family. 

''You  know,"  said  the  conductor,  "that 
other  people  travel  with  children,  and  when 
your     children    have     the     whooping     cough, 


The  little  woman  sprang  into  the  aisle  as 
though  she  were  shot.  ''Whatf  she 
screamed. 

The  man  with  a  family  looked  at  the  con- 
ductor, clawed  his  beard,  looked  at  the  excited 
little  woman,  and  finally  said,  in  tones  of  real 
distress  at  the  annoyance  his  innocent  family 
was  causing  : 

"  Wal,  ye  see,  they  did  hev  it  a  right  smart, 
but  I  didn't  reckon  thet " 

The  little  woman  was  gone,  but  the  con- 
ductor remained.     I  wanted  to  hear  that  sen- 


192  WOMAN   SUFFRAGE. 

tence  completed  if  I  had  to  run  past  Abing- 
don. 

"  How  long  ago  did  your  children  have  the 
whooping  cough  ?''  asked  the  conductor. 

*' Wal,"  the  man  with  the  family  said,  *'the 
fust  one  hed  it  back  in  Tennessee,  nine  year 
ago,  and  the  last  un  had  it  down  in  Nodoway 
county,  nigh  onto  four  year  ago,  an'  I  don't 
allow  they's  no  danger  of  ketclk3n  it  from  any 
on  'em  now." 

"  Abing-DON  !"  yelled  the  brakeman,  and  I 
never  was  able  to  learn  how  many  more  panics 
the  man  with  the  family  created  before  he  got 
through  to  Nodoway  county. 


WOMAN  SUFFRAGE. 

The  women  in  Kansas  vote  at  the  school 
elections.  At  a  recent  election  at  Osage  City 
one  woman  went  up  to  vote,  but  before  she  got 
through  telling  the  judges  what  a  time  her 
AVillie  had  with  the  scarlet  fever  when  he  was 
only  two  years  old,  it  was  time  to  close  the  polls 
and  she  had  forgotten  to  deposit  her  ballot. 


INVADING    MISSOURI.  193 


mVADr^TG   MISSOURI. 

I  HAD  a  very  pleasant  trip  from  Burlington 
to  St.  Louis.  I  boarded  the  C,  B.  &  Q.  sleeper 
for  St.  Louis,  just  in  time  to  crawl  into  the  last 
vacant  berth,  thanks  to  the  supreme  goodness 
of  a  sleeping-car  conductor,  who  ought  to  have 
the  rank  and  pay  of  a  major-general  in  the 
United  States  army. 

Do  you  know  how  much  pleasanter  and 
more  comfortable  it  makes  a  berth  in  a  sleeping 
car,  to  hear  two   or  three  disappointed,  tired 


A   MATITTTNAL    BALLET. 

I 

men  standing  in  the  aisle,  growling  and   sw^ear- 

ing  becaTise  they  can't  get  any  ?    It  is  a  mean 
feeling,  I  will  admit,  a  mean,  hateful,  unmanly 


194  INVADING    MISSOURI. 

feeling,  but  it  is  powerful  comforting.  1  try  to 
break  myself  of  it,  but  at  the  same  time  I  am 
willing  to  admit  that  I  would  rather  lie  in  the 
berth,  and  enjoy  the  mean,  sellish  gratification, 
than  stand  up  in  the  aisle  and  indulge  in  an 
honest,  frank,  manly  swear  at  the  supreme  sel- 
fishness curled  up  in  the  berth,  making  the  air 
vocal  with  simulated  snores. 

Moral :  Such  is  the  Sad  Perversity  of  our 
Fallen  Nature. 

No  other  events  transpired  during  the  jour- 
ney until  seven  o'clock  this  morning.  Then  the 
porter  said  "  St.  Louis,"  and  the  grand  spec- 
tacular sleeping-car  feat  of  standing  on  one  leg 
and  pulling  on  a  pair  of  tr**s^rs  was  performed 
by  the  whole  strength  of  the  entire  ballet. 

A  great  big  trunk  is  wheeled  across  the  plat- 
form toward  the  baggage  room.  On  the  end  is 
painted,  in  large  black  letters,  the  owner's  name, 
*'  P.  F.  W.  Shope."  '^  Hullo,"  shouts  a  C,  B. 
&  Q.  bmkeman,  staring  at  the  trunk  and  its 
name,  ''Hullo,  when  did  they  move  the 
*  Pittsburg  and  Fort  Wayne  shops '  to  St. 
Louis?" 

St.  Charles,  Missouri. — The  city  looks  state- 
ly as  a  queen,  throned  in  beauty    on  her  hills 


INVADING    MISSOUEI.  195 

by  the  river  side.  It  is  a  lovely  city.  St. 
Charles  !  Where  have  I  seen  it  before  i  Ten, 
twelve,  it  must  be  fourteen  years  ago,  when  A. 
J.  Smithes  detachment  of  the  sixteenth  army 
corps,  "Smith's  guerrillas,"  were  going  up  to 
the  river  seeking  whom  they  might  devour  good 
old,  '^  Pap  Price "'  up.  And  here  at  St.  Charles, 
when  the  boats  landed,  Sherman's  orders  took 
the  bravest  man  and  the  best  tighter  in  the 
United  Slates  array  away  from  the  corps,  to  go 
wath  him  across  to  the  sea,  and  left  the  first  di- 
vision wondering  what  was  going  to  become  of 
it  without  '•  Old  Joe."  It  was  a  long  distance 
from  a  private  gentleman  of  the  escort  up  to  a 
general  of  division,  and  in  addition  to  the  dif- 
ference of  rank,  it  was  a  long  ways  physically 
from  me  up  to  General  J.  A.  Mower,  for  he 
was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  physical  man- 
hood, and  when  I  was  in  the  saddle  I  looked 
like  a  patent  clothes-pin  in  uniform  ;  but  we 
all  made  a  demi-god  of  Mower,  and  when  he 
held  my  hand  when  I  went  up  to  say  good-by, 
and  gave  me  a  dozen  words  of  parting  advice, 
1  wouldn't  have  exchanged  places  with  the 
general  of  the  army.  Proud  ?  I  wouldn  t  give 
up  the  recollection  now,  to  be  president. 


196  POLITICAL   RENUNCIATION, 


POLITICAL      REXUXCIATIOX. 

I  wouldn't  be  president  anyhow.  I  won't 
be  president,  under  any  circumstances. 

AVliat's  the  use  of  being  president,  anyhow? 
And  have  the  stalwarts  scalp  you  on  one  side 
and  the  conservatives  kick  you  on  the  other, 
and  every  man  that  doesn't  get  a  post-office  call 
you  an  ''accident.''  Take  away  your  presi- 
dency. 

And  yet,  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  advertisement 
for  the  next  lecture  season.  I  don't  really 
know  but  if  the    people  of  the  United  States 

insist  upon  it,    that  I  may  be  induced  a 

man's  duty  to  his  country,  you  know,  should 
always  override  his  personal  wishes. 

The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  desirable 
the  scheme  appears.  I  could  stay  in  Washing- 
ton, you  know,  during  the  summer,  when 
everybody  else  is  out  of  town,  and  have  a  nice 
quiet  time  to  write  my  lecture  ;  then,  just  about 
the  time  congress  assembles  the  lecture  season 
opens,  and  I  could  skip  out  and  lecture  all 
winter,  and  thus  dodge  all  the  cabinet  meetings 
and  evade  all  the  sessions,  and  get  back  in  time 


SHE    THOUGHT   SHE   HAD   'eM.  197 

to  sign  all  the  bills.  I  wish  the  people  of  the 
several  States,  in  selecting  their  delegates  for 
the  republican  national  convention  in  1880, 
would  just  think  of  this. 


SHE  THOUGHT  SHE  HAD  'EM. 

The  other  day  a  West  Hill  woman  found  a 
large,  dark  bottle,  worth  about  a  pint,  in  the 
closet,  and  she  immediately  took  it  down  and 
jerked  out  the  cork  to  see  what  there  was  in  it. 
She  smelt  it  vigorously  for  a  second,  and  then, 
unable  to  determine  just  what  it  was,  she  tipped 
the  bottle  very  cautiously,  but  before  it  was 
more  than  half  turned  over,  the  little  green 
snake  that  her  son  had  stowed  away  in  that 
bottle  shot  out  and  dropped  into  her  extended 
hand,  and  the  curtain  went  down  on  a  most 
magnificent  transformation  scene,  red  lights 
burning  on  one  side  and  green  at  the  other, 
grand  overture  by  the  orchestic,  trumpets 
sounding  the  flourish  behind  the  scenes,  and 
the  full  force  of  the  entire  ballet  before  the  foot- 
lights. Long  before  the  police  could  break  in 
the  front  door,  the  snake  got  away. 


198     THE  ADVERTISEDEST  ROAD  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


THE    ADVERTISEDEST     HOAD    IX    THE 
SOUTH. 

Ex  EOUTE  for  Hannibal.  And  at  last  I  have 
reached  the  realization  of  my  heart's  desire.  I 
am  riding  on  the  *'  M.,  K.  &  T.''  railway.  I  am 
passing  through  the  beautiful  Indian  territory. 
At  least,  I  suppose  I  am  passing  through  it.  It 
is  down  on  the  bill,  in  red,  and  yellow,  and 
purple,  and  green,  that  all  passengers  on  the 
M.,  K.  &  T.  do  pass  through  the  beautiful 
Indian  territory,  and  I  hold  a  lirst-class  ticket. 
I  see  the  beautiful  Indian  leaning  up  against 
the  fence,  calmly  surveying  his  territory.  And 
I  am  free  to  admit  that  the  territory  is  a  power- 
ful sight  more  beautiful  than  the  Indian.  The 
Indian  is  chewing  tobacco  and  swearing  at  a 
mule.  He  is  six  feet  high,  the  Indian  is,  and 
his  tail  is  full  of  burs,  the  mule's  is.  He  wears 
butternut  jeans,  and  a  fur  cap,  the  Indian  does, 
and  you  can  hear  him  bray  clear  into  the  car, 
the  mule,  that  is.  He  has  a  bushy  head  of  hair 
and  shocky  whiskers,  tanned  out  by  the  sun, 
has  the  Indian ;  and  he  wears  more  flat  leather 
harness  than  he  has  hair,  the  mule  does.    He 


THE  ADVERTISEDEST  ROAD  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


199 


frames  a  blacksnake  whip,  the  Indian  does,  and 
as  he  swears,  he  larrups  it  over  his  hunkers,  the 
mule's    hunkers.      And    every    time    he,    the 


THRILLIN&    SCENES    IN    THE    INDI-^    TERRITOTIY. 

Indian,  fetches  him,  the  mule,  one,  he,  the 
mule,  kicks  down  a  whole  panel  of  fence.  I 
trust  I  have  made  this  clear  enough.  But  the 
train  flies  on.  The  air  is  balmy  with  the  breath 
of  May.  This  is  February,  but  the  bill  says 
May,  and  the  M.,  K.  &  T.  doesn't  care  for  the 
almanac. 


<'The  class  will  rise,"  remarked  the  precise 
lady  teacher  in  the  grammar  department,  "the 
class  will  rise,  and  remain  rising." 


200       THE     ROAIA>'CE   OJ    A   8LEEPING-CAR. 


THE   EOMA^XE  OF  A  SLEEPIXG-CAR. 

It  was  in  the  Burlington,  Cedar  Rapids  and 
Northern  sleeper.  Outside,  it  was  dark  as  the 
inside  of  an  ink-bottle.  In  the  sleeping  car, 
people  slept. 

Or  tried  it. 

Some  of  them  slept,  like  Christian  men  and 
women,  peacefully  and  sweetly  and  quietly. 

Others  slept  like  demons,  malignantly,  hid- 
eously, fiendishly,  as  though  it  was  their  mis- 
sion to  keep  everybody  else  awake. 

Of  these,  the  man  in  lower  number  three  was 
the  ''boss."  When  it  came  to  a  square  snore 
with  variations,  you  wanted  to  count  "  lower 
three"  in,  with  a  full  hand  and  a  pocket  full 
of  rocks. 

We  never  heard  anything  snore  like  him. 
It  was  the  most  systematic  snoring  that  was 
ever  done,  even  on  one  of  those  tournaments  of 
snoring,  a  sleeping  car.  He  didn't  begin  as 
soon  as  the  lamps  were  turned  down  and  every- 
body was  in  bed.  Oh,  no  !  There  was  more  cold- 
blooded diabolism  in  his  system  than  that.  He 
waited  until  everybody  had  had  a  little  taste  of 


THE    EOMANCE   OF   A   SLEEPIXG-CAR.       201 

sleep,  just  to  see  how  good  and  pleasant  it  was, 
and  then  he  broke  in  on  their  slumbers  like  a 
winged,  breathing  demon,  and  they  never  knew 
what  peace  was  again  that  night. 

He  started  out  with  a  terrific 

"Gn-r-r-r-t!" 

That  opened  every  eye  in  the  car.  We  all 
hoped  it  was  an  accident,  however,  and  trusting 
that  he  wouldn't  do  it  again,  we  all  forgave 
him.  Then  he  blasted  our  hopes  and  curdled 
the  sweet  serenity  of  our  forgiveness  by  a  long 
drawn 

^'Gw-a-h-h-h-hah!" 

That  sounded  too  much  like  business  to  be 
accidental.  Then  every  head  in  that  sleepless 
sleeper  was  held  off  the  pillow  for  a  minute, 
waiting,  in  breathless  suspense,  to  hear  the 
w^orst,  and  the  sleeper  in  ''lower  three''  went 
on,  in  long-drawn,  regular  cadences  that  indi- 
cated good  staying  qualities : 

' '  Gwa-a-a-h !  Gwa-a-a-h  !  Gahwahwah !  Gah- 
wahwah  !  Gahwa  a-a-ah  !" 

Evidently  it  was  going  to  last  all  night,  and 
the  weary  heads  dropped  back  on  the  sleepless 
pillows,  and  the  swearing  began.  It  mumbled 
along  in  low,  muttering  tones,  like  the  distant 


202       THE    ROMANCE   OF    A   SLEEPING  CAR. 

echoes  of  a  profane  thunder-storm.   Pretty  soon 
''lower  three"   gave  us  a  little  variation.     He 
shot  off  a  spiteful 
''Gnwock!  !" 

Which  sounded  as  though  his  nose  had  got 
mad  at  him  and  was  going  to  strike.  Then 
there  was  a  pause,  and  we  began  to  hope  he  had 
either  awakened  from  sleep  or  strangled  to 
death,  nobody  cared  very  particularly  which. 
But  he  disappointed  everybody  with  a  guttural 
"Gnrooch!" 

Then  he  paused  again  for  breath,  and  when 
he  had  accumulated  enough  for  his  purposes,  he 
resumed  business  with  a  stertorous 
''Kowpf!" 

That  nearly  shot  the  roof  off  the  car.  Then 
he  went  on  playing  such  fantastic  tricks  with 
his  nose  and  breathing  things  that  would  make 
the  immortal  gods  weep,  if  they  did  but  hear 
them.  It  seemed  a  matter  incredible,  it  seemed 
an  utter,  preposterous  impossibility  that  any 
human  being  could  make  the  monstrous,  hideous 
noises  with  its  breathing  machine  that  the  fel- 
low in  "lower  three"  was  making  with  his. 
He  ran  through  all  the  ranges  of  the  nasal 
gamut,  he  went  up  and  down  a  very  chromatic 


THE    ROMANCE   OF  A   SLEEPIXG-CAR.       203 


scale  of  snores,  he  ran  through  intricate  and 
fearful  variations  until  it  seemed  that  his  nose 
must  be  out  of  joint  in  a  thousand  places.  All 
the  night  and  all  night  through  he  told  his 
story. 


A  LADY   IN   THE    CASE  I 


'^Gawah  ;  gnrrrh  !  gn-r-r-r  !  Kowpff  !  !  Ga- 
wawwah  !  gawah-hah  I  gwock  !  gnarrrt !  gwah- 
h-h-h!  whoof  !" 

Just  as  the  other  passengers  had  consulted 


204  BREAKING   THE    ICE. 

together  how  they  might  slay  him,  morning 
dawned,  and  *' lower  number  three"  awoke. 
Ever34~)ody  watched  the  curtains  to  see  what 
manner  of  man  it  was  that  had  made  that  beau- 
tiful sleeping-car  a  pandemonium.  Presently 
the  toilet  was  completed,  the  curtains  parted, 
and  "lower  number  three"  stood  revealed. 

Great  heavens ! 

It  was  a  fair  young  girl,  with  golden  hair, 
and  timid,  pleading  eyes,  like  a  hunted  fawn's  ! 


BREAKI^T>  THE  ICE. 

The  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser  says 
more  than  one  hundred  handsome  American 
girls  broke  through  the  ice  last  winter,  were 
rescued,  and  married  their  rescuers.  Yes,  and 
we  know  one  American  girl,  good  as  gold,  and 
homely  enough  to  scare  rats,  who  has  broken 
through  the  ice  every  winter  since  1844,  and 
has  had  to  scramble  out  by  herself  every  time, 
and  is  the  confirmedest  kind  of  an  old  maid 
yet. 


PEIYILEGES   OF   LITERATURE.  205 


PRIVILEGES  OF  LITERATURE. 

Do  you  know,  I've  gone  to  railroading  ?  Yea 
indeedy.  Haven't  quit  lecturing,  but  I  brake  on 
freight  trains  and  camp  out  on  side-tracks  in 
the  intervals.  It  takes  a  longer  time  to  spend 
nine  hours  on  a  siding  than  it  does  to  deliver  a 
popular  lecture,  but  it  doesn't  pay  so  well.  I 
know  every  switch,  side-track  and  Y  in  the  State 
of  Iowa  by  name,  sight,  and  reputation.  If  I 
were  dropped  out  of  the  clouds  in  the  darkest 
midnight  that  ever  frowned,  and  should  light 
upon  a  side-track  I  could  tell  right  where  I  was. 
Try  me  sometime.  One  night  last  December  I 
was  going  from  Grinnell  up  north.  According 
to  the  custom  of  James  T.  Fields,  and  other 
bucolic  lecturers,  I  was  riding  in  a  caboose, 
jamming  along  behind  a  freight  train  as 
long  as  a  kite  string.  I  was  stretched  out 
on  a  long  seat  at  my  full  length,  which 
isn'  t  much  longer  than  a  piece  of  cord  wood. 
I  was  trying  to  sleep.  I  was  wooing  the 
drowsy  god  by  pounding  my  ear  on  the  cushion 
till  the  dust  flew. 


206  PRIVILEGES  OF   LITERATURE. 

The  drowsy  god  was  not  on  that  train,  how- 
ever. He  was  back  in  Grinnell,  waiting  for  the 
sleeping-car. 

Pretty  soon  the  train  stopped,  about  a  mile 
north  of  Grinnell.  It  was  very  restful  to  the 
one  lone  passenger  in  the  caboose.  It  was 
soothing  to  his  swollen  ear.  It  was  easy  on  the 
cushion.  I  felt  that  sleep  was  just  about  to 
settle  down  upon  the  subscriber  and  knit  up  the 
raveled  sleeve  of  care,  so  long  as  the  absence 
of  motion  rendered  the  ceremony  of  knitting 
possible. 

The  conductor  came  in.  Gloom  sate  en- 
throned upon  his  brow,  and  his  lowering  frowns 
made  the  car  look  dark.  He  opened  a  window 
and  let  in  a  wandering  zephyr  that  froze  the 
flames  in  the  stove  into  icicles.  It's  a  way 
freight  conductors  have. 

He  brought  his  head  in  after  awhile,  and 
from  the  way  he  acted  I  judge  he  was  moved. 
He  seemed  to  be  deeply  affected  over  some- 
thing. I  had  a  dim  suspicion  that  he  might 
have  been  irritated.  He  slammed  down  his 
lamp,  and  he  kicked  the  stove.  Then  he  jerked 
down  another  lantern,  and  snatched  up  an  oil- 
can and  slammed  the  stove  door  shut,  and  said 


PRIVILEGES  OF   LITERATURE.  207 

he  hoped  he  might  be  dad  essentially  criminy 
jeminy  teetotally  gol  twisted  to  jude. 

I  arose,  with  the  intention  of  leaving  the  car 
if  such  language  was  repeated.  I  was  spared 
the  trial.  It  was  not  rejjeated.  The  next  time 
he  said  it,  he  made  it  worse,  a  thousandfold. ; 

But  I  was  used  to  it  by  that  time,  and 
endured  it  with  a  fortitude  and  resignation  that 
astonished  even  myself.     I  asked  him  : 

"  Are  we  waiting  for  a  train  to  pass  us  ?" 

"  Yes  !"  he  roared,  "  waiting  for  a  train  to 
pass  right  through  us." 

I  sighed  and  rolled  upon  the  bench  and 
once  more  essayed  to  sleep.  Pretty  soon,  when 
the  conductor  had  the  second  lantern  trimmed 
and  burning,  he  came  and  stood  beside  my  vir- 
tuous couch.     He  said, 

"Here,  young  fellow;  get  up  out  of  this. 
Take  this  lamp  and  trot  down  the  track  about 
seventy  yards,  and  stay  there  till  I  send  for  you. 
Swing  the  lamp  this  way  if  you  see  a  train 
coming." 

I  asked  him, 

"And  what  does  this  feature  of  the  pro- 
gramme mean  ?" 

He  said  that  it  meant  that  the  engine  and  half 


208  PRIVILEGES  OF  LITERATURE. 

our  train  and  all  the  brakesmen  had  broken 
loose  from  us  and  gone  on  to  the  next  station,  he 
reckoned,  and  when  they  discovered  we  were 
left,  w^ould  come  back  for  us.  He  had  to  flag 
one  end  of  the  train  against  the  returning  half, 
and  I  must  go  down  the  track  and  do  duty 
against  a  passenger,  and  a  possible  freight  or 
two  that  might  otherwise  wander  into  us. 

He  w^as  correct.  Moreover,  he  was  very  firm 
about  it.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  convic- 
tions, so  I  yielded  to  his  earnest  solicitations 
and  girded  up  my  loins  and  sallied  forth. 

I  halted  at  a  cattle  guard.  Great  heavens ! 
but  the  night  w^as  cold — colder  than  a  Beacon 
street  Boston  man,  to  whom  the  misguided 
stranger  has  spoken  without  an  introduction. 
I  could  have  warmed  my  feet  in  the  bosom 
of  a  snow  man.  The  wind  flew  about  1,000 
miles  a  minute,  and  everything  it  touched 
turned  to  ice  or  stone,  just  as  it  happened.  I 
got  doTvn  in  the  ditch  to  get  out  of  the  wind, 
but  it  was  so  much  colder  dowm  there  that  the 
wind  felt  warm.  Then  I  got  out  on  the  track, 
and  the  wind  had  got  so  much  colder  than  the 
ditch,  that  I  was  afraid  to  step  back  into  the 
ditch  again  lest  I  should  be  sunstruck.      My 


PEIVILEGES   OF   LITERATURE. 


209 


teeth  chattered  so  that  I  couldn't  have  heard  a 
train  if  it  had  run  up  my  trowsers  leg.  It  was 
a  terrible  situation.  Alone,  in  the  wild,  wild 
night,  with  no  human  ear  to  hear  my  cries  if 
danger  assailed  me,  no  human  arms  to  protect 
me;  suddenly  the  fearful  thought  flashed 
across  my  mind : 


What  if, 
in  that  hour 
of  darkness, 
in  that  wild, 
lonely  place, 
some  woman 
should  come  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^  kailboadh^g. 
along,  kick  over  my  lantern,  stitie  me  with 
chloroform  and  kiss  me  ? 

[  am  a  married  man.     I  felt  that  my  duty 

14 


210  PRIVILEGES   OF   LITERATURE. 

to  my  family  demanded  prompt  action,  and  I 
left  that  warning  lamp  sitting  by  the  cattle 
guard,  while  I  trotted  back  to  the  caboose  and 
kept  np  the  fire. 

In  about  two  hours  the  advance  guard  of  our 
train  came  feeling  its  way  back  after  us  and 
picked  us  up.  The  conductor  came  in,  so  cold 
he  couldn't  shut  his  eyes,  and  saw  me,  just 
rousing  up  from  a  dream  of  peace. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  here?"  he 
demanded. 

I  said  I  didn'  t  know  ;  I  had  been  in  so  long 
my  watch  had  run  down. 

"How  long  did  you  stay  at  where  I  sent 
you?"  he  asked. 

I  told  him,  "  About  five  minutes." 

The  conductor  was  a  man  of  wonderful  pres- 
ence of  mind.  He  didn't  try  to  say  anything 
just  then.  He  was  too  cold.  He  made  me  go 
out  and  bring  in  my  lamp.  I  brought  it  in  and 
turned  it  over  to  the  company  and  resigned  my 
position  on  the  spot.  But  I  wasn't  allowed  to 
get  out  of  the  service  of  the  company  so  easily. 

The  conductor  waited  until  he  was  suffi- 
ciently thawed  out  to  orate  fluently  and  rax^idly, 
and  then  he  let  me  have  it.     It  was  in  vain  that 


CHIROPODIAN.  211 

I  pleaded,  in  extenuation  of  my  fault,  that  I 
would  rather  have  a  freight  train  run  into  and 
over  me,  than  freeze  to  death  ;  that  when  I  had 
to  die,  I  wanted  to  die  warm.  Excuses  availed 
me  nothing.  The  conductor  gave  me  the  most 
refined,  eloquent,  polished,  scholarly,  classical, 
and  vigorous  "cussing"  that  was  ever  admin- 
istered to  a  free-born  American  lecturer.  If  the 
audiences  whom  I  have  stricken  could  have 
been  present  at  that  matinee,  they  would  have 
felt  avenged,  they  would  have  pitied  me.  I 
couldn't  help  thinking,  while  the  orator  was 
laying  it  on,  what  a  scathing  dramatic  critic  he 
would  make. 

I  survived  the  blessing  and  got  into  Mar- 
shalltown  just  six  minutes  ahead  of  the  pas- 
senger train  I  was  afraid  to  wait  for.  That  is 
how  you  make  time  by  taking  freight  trains. 


All  the  vaunted  skill  of  the  chiropodist 
cannot  keep  the  ache  out  of  the  feet  of  a  young 
man  whose  boots  are  smaller  than  his  socks, 
Chiropod  the  chiropodist  never  so  chiropodly. 
!Now  say  that  real  fast,  and  see  if  you  are  sober. 


212  A  SLIGHT   MISUNDERSTANDING. 


A  SLIGHT   MISUNDERSTANDING. 

The  last  time  I  ran  home,  over  the  Chicago, 
Burlington  and  Qiiincy,  we  had  a  very  small, 
but  select  and  entertaining  party  on  the  train. 
It  was  a  warm  day,  and  everybody  was  tired 
with  the  long  ride  and  oppressed  by  the  heat. 
The  precise  woman,  with  her  hat  swathed  in  an 
immense  blue  vail,  who  always  i^arsed  her  sen- 
tences before  she  uttered  them,  utterly  worn 
out  and  thoroughly  lonesome,  was  glad  to 
respond  to  the  pleasant  nod  of  the  big  rough 
man  who  got  on  at  Monmouth,  and  didn't  know 
enough  grammar  to  ask  for  the  mustard  so  that 
you  could  tell  whether  he  wanted  you  to  pass  it 
to  him  or  |>our  it  on  his  hair.  The  thin, 
troubled-looking  man  with  the  sandy  goatee, 
who  stammered  so  dreadfully  that  he  always 
forgot  what  he  wanted  to  say  before  he  got 
through  wrestling  with  any  word  with  a  "  W  '' 
in  it,  lit  up  with  a  tremulous,  hesitating  smile 
as  he  noticed  this  indication  of  sociability,  for, 
like  most  men  who  find  it  extremely  difficult  to 
talk  at  all,  he  wanted  to  talk  all  the  time.  And 
the  fat  old  gentleman  sitting  opposite  him,  who 


A   SLIGHT  MISUXDEESTAXDIXG. 


213 


was  so  deaf  he  couldn't  hear  the  cars  rattle,  and 
always  awed  and  bothered  the  stammerer  into 
silence  by  saying  "Hey  ?"  in  a  very  imperative 
tone,  every  time  he  got  in  the  middle  of  a  hard 
word,  cocked  his  irascible  head  on  one  side  as 
he  saw  this  smile,  and  after  listening  intently  to 
dead  silence  for  a  minute,  suddenly  broke  out 
with  such  an  emj^hatic,  impatient. 


"HEY?" 

*'Heyr' 

That  everybody  in  the  car  started  up  and 
shouted,  nervously  and  ungrammatically  ; 

"  I  didn't  say  nothing  !" 

With  the  excei^tion  of  the  woman  with  the 
blue  vail,  who  said  : 

"I  said  notJiing." 

The  fat  old  gentleman  was  a  little  annoyed 


214  A   SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING. 

and  startled  by  such  a  chorus  of  responses,  and 
1  fixing  his  gaze  still  more  intently  upon  the  thin 
man,  said,  defiantly  : 

*'Wha'  sayr' 

*'I-I-I  I  w-w-wuh-wuh-wuh-wasn'-wasn' 

I  wasn'  s-s-sp — speak " 

^'  Hey  ?"  roared  the  fat  man. 

*'He  wa'n'tsayin'  nauthin', ''  shouted  the 
big  rough  man,  nodding  friendly  encourage- 
ment to  the  thin  man;  "he  hain't  opened  his 
mouth!" 

"Soap  in  the  south?"  queried  the  fat  old 
man,  impatiently.     "  Wha'  for?" 

"Mouth,  mouth;"  explained  the  precise 
woman,  with  impressive  nicety.  "He  said 
*  opened  his  mouth.'  The  gentleman  seated 
directly  opposite  you  was " 

"  'Offers  to  chew'  what?"  cried  the  fat  old 
gentleman,  in  amazement. 

"Sir,"  said  the  precise  woman,  "I  made 
no  reference  whatever  to  chewing.  You  cer- 
tainly misunderstood  me." 

The  thin  man  took  courage  from  so  many 
reinforcements,  and  broke  in  : 

"  I-I-I-I  d-d-d-d-dud-d ad-dud-don' t-don't, 
Idon'tch-ch-ch " 


A   SLIGHT  MISUNDEKSTANDIN^G.  215 

**  Hey  ?"  shouted  tlie  fat  gentleman, 
i        "He  don't  chaw  nauthin'  !"  roared  the  big 
rough  man,  in  a  voice  that  made  the  car  win- 
dows rattle.     "He  wa'nt  a  talkin' when  you  shofc 
off  at  him!" 

"Who  got  off?"  exclaimed  the  fat  old 
gentleman,  "  wha'  d'  he  get  off  for?" 

"You  do  not  appear  to  comprehend  clearly 
what  he  stated,"  shrieked  the  precise  woman, 
"no  person  has  left  the  train  !" 

"  Then  wha'  d'  he  say  so  for  ?"  shouted  the 
fat  man. 

"Oh!"  said  the  thin  man,  in  a  surprising 
burst  of  fluency,  "He-he-he  d-d-did-did " 

"Who  did?"  queried  the  fat  man,  talking 
louder  than  any  one  else. 

"  Xum-num-num-num-n--no-nobody,  nobody. 
He  he  d-d-d-dud-didn't  didn'  didn't  s " 

"  Then  wha'  made  you  say  he  did  ?"  howled 
the  deaf  man. 

"  You  misunderstand  him,"  interrupted  the 
precise  woman;  "he  was  probably  about  to 
remark  that  no  reference  whatever  had  been 
intentionally  made  to  the  departure  of  any 
person  from  the  train,  when  you  interrupted 
him    in  the  midst  of  an   unfinished   sentence, 


216  A   SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING. 

and  lience  obtained  an  erroneous  impression 
of  the  tenor  of  his  remarks.  He  meant  no 
offense " 

"Know  a  fence!''  roared  the  fat  man,  "of 
course  I  know  a  fence  !" 

"He  hain't  got  middlin'  good  hearin'," 
yelled  the  big  rough  man,  as  apologetically  as 
a  steam  whistle  could  have  shrieked  it  ;  "y'ears 
kind  of  stuffed  up  I'' 

"Time  to  brush  up!''  cried  the  fat  man; 
"wha'  for?" 

"No,"  shrieked  the  precise  woman;  "he 
remarked  to  the  other  gentleman  that  your 
hearing  appeared  to  be  rather  defective  !" 

"His  father  a  detective!"  hooted  the  fat 
gentleman  in  amazement. 

"N-n-n-n-nun-nun-no  !"  broke  in  the  thin 
man  ;  "  h-h-h-h-huh-huh-he  s-s-sasa-said-said 
you  w-w-w-wuh-was  a  little  dud  dud— was  a 
little  deaf  !" 

"  Said  I  was  a  thief  !"  howled  the  fat  man,  a 
scarlet  tornado  of  wrath,  "  said  I  was  a  thief! 
Wha'  d'ye  mean?  Show  him  to  me!  Who 
says  I'm  a  thief  i    Who  says  so  ?" 

"Now,"  shouted  the  big  rough  man,  "  no- 
bodv  don't  say  ve  ain't  no  thief.     I  jest  sayed 


A   SLIGHT   MISCXDEESTAXDIXG.  217 

as  how  we  didn't  git  along  very  well.  Ye  see 
he,"  nodding  to  the  thin  man,  "he  can't  talk 
very  well  an' ' ' 

"  Wh-v/h-wh-why  c-c-can't  he  t-t-t-tut-tut- 
tut-talkT'  broke  in  the  thin  man,  white  with 
rage.  "I-I-I-I'd  like  t-t-to  know  wh-wh-wh- 
what's  the  reason  I  c-c-c-can't  tut-tut-talk  as 
w-w-w-w-well  as  any  bab-bub-body  that's  bub- 
bub-bub-been  tut-tut-talking  on  this  ear  ever 
s-s-s-since  the  tut-tut-tut " 

"  Hey  f  roared  the  fat  man,  in  an  explosion 
of  indignant  suspicion. 

"  I  was  sayin',"  howled  the  big  rough  man, 
"  as  how  he  didn't  talk  middlin'  well " 

"Should  say  so,"  growled  the  fat  man,  in 
tones  of  intense  satisfaction. 

"  And,"  the  big  rough  man  went  on,  j^elling 
with  delight  at  having  made  the  old  party  hear 
something,  "and  you  can't  hear  only  tolla- 
ble  " 

"  Can't  hear  I"  the  fat  old  gentleman  broke 
out  in  a  resonant  roar,  "cant  hear  I  Like  to 
know  why  I  can't  hear?  why  can't  I?  If  I 
couldn't  hear  better  than  half  the  people  on 
this  train,  I'd  cut  off  my  ears  !  Can't  hear  ?  It's 
news  to  me  if  I  can' t.  I'd  like  to  know  who " 


218  A   YEGETAEIAX   PROBLEM. 

' '  BuvYmgloji  P '  yelled  the  brakeman.  ' '  Chag 
car  f  r  Keokuk,  Ceed  Rap's,  an'  For'  Mad' son  ! 
This  car  fr  Omaha!     Twen'  mints  f  supper!" 

And  but  I'or  this  timely  interruption,  I  don't 
think  our  pleasant  little  party  would  have  got 
out  of  that  snarl  this  side  of  San  Francisco. 


A  YEGETAKIAN  PROBLEM. 

^'  Spell  parsnips,"  said  a  South  Hill  teacher. 
*'  G-i-n,  gin,"  howled  the  biggest  boy  in  the 
class,  "there's  j'our  gin,  n-a-n,  nan,  there's 
your  nan,  there's  your  ginnan,  s-h-u-g,  shug, 
there's  your  shug,  there's  your  nanshug,  there's 
your  ginnanshug,  g-e-r,  ger,  there's  your  ger, 
there's  your  shugger,  there's  your  nanshugger, 
there's  your  ginnanshugger — "  "  For  mercy's 
sake,"  exclaimed  the  horrified  teacher,  as  soon 
as  she  could  catch  her  breath,  "what  are  you 
doing?"  "Spelling  par's  nips,"  said  the  boy, 
"an'  that's  only  one  of  'em,  but  he  says  it's 
the  boss."  She  told  him  he  needn't  spell  the 
others,  and  he  said  he'd  have  the  old  man  write 
'em  on  a  postal  card  and  send  'em  to  her. 


A   nARROWIXG   TALE.  219 


A    HARROAYIXG    TALE. 

I  AM  running  East  on  the  Toledo,  Peoria  and 
Vv'arsaw,  and  am  busy.  I  am  scribbling  as  fast 
as  I  can  to  get  a  letter  ready  to  send  back  to 
Burlington  when  we  meet  the  other  train,  and 
my  writing  excites  the  curiositj'  of  an  inquisi- 
tive-looking old  lady  sitting  just  opposite  me. 
I  know  she  is  going  to  speak.  She  stands  it  as 
long  as  she  can,  and  then  opens  out  with  : 

Where  did  I  come  from  i 

Black  Hills. 

No  ?     Well,  I  didn  t  look  like  it. 

I  explain  that  I  have  not  been  out  there 
mining  or  roughing  it,  but  went  out  to  get  the 
body  of  my  brother,  who  was  a  miner,  and  had 
been  shot  by  the  Indians. 

Oh-h-h  !  with  a  wailing  inflection  of  sympa- 
thy that  makes  me  ashamed  of  myself.  But 
curiosity  soon  conquers  pity,  and  the  old  lady 
goes  on  probing  my  lacerated  heart. 

'•Did  you  git  him  T' 

'•Yes,  ma'am,"  very  solemnly,  "I  have  him 
in  the  baggage  car." 

A  long  pause,  for  mournful  reflection,  I  sup- 


220  A   HARROWING   TALE. 

pose,  and  to  give  me  a  chance  to  nerve  up  and 
prepare  for  the  next  question. 

''Was  he  scalped?"  * 

"Yes,"  I  say,  with  a  sigh,  ''scalped,  shot 
through  the  body  with  arrows,  all  his  lingers 
chopped  off,  )iis  eyes  gouged  out,  and  his  ears 
bored." 

The  old  girl's  cup  of  horrors  is  full.  She 
leans  back  in  her  seat  with  a  sigh  of  grim  satis- 
faction, and  questions  me  no  more. 

Was  it  wrong  to  lie  to  the  old  lady  in  this 
heartless  and  scandalous  manner?  Yes,  I  think 
it  was  not.  On  general  principles,  it  is  not  just 
the  cheese  to  tell  lies,  unless  you  have  some 
object  in  telling  them.  In  thus  innocently 
stuffing  my  traveling  acquaintance  with  a  fable 
about  a  country  I  had  never  seen,  a  brother  I 
had  never  had,  and  Indians  that  never  were,  I 
wrote  for  the  old  lady  a  thrilling  chapter  in  her 
quiet  life.  She  would  go  to  her  quiet  little 
home,  and  brighten  its  humdrum  life  by  telling 
her  j)eople  how  she  met  and  talked  with  a  man 
who  was  going  home  with  the  body  of  his 
brother,  mangled  in  the  manner  described. 

Then,  in  the  course  of  time,  after  many  rep- 
etitions of  this  narrative,   she  would  involun- 


A   HAEROWING  TALE. 


221 


tarily  and  innocently  glide  into  the  statement 
that  she  went  into  the  baggage  car  with  me  and 
I  showed  her  the  mangled,  tortured  body,  and 
she  would  mangle  it  more  and  more  as  the  nar- 
rative grew  upon  her.  Then  she  would,  after  a 
little  while,  declare,  and  in  all  innocence  and 
truthfulness  and  belief 
in  her  own  statement, 
that  she  was  on  the 
train  when  it  came 
through  the  Black 
Hills,  and  from  the 
car  window  saw  the 
Indians  chasing  the 
doomed  man  and  per- 
forating his  body  with 
arrows,  and  dancing 
around  him  in  fiendish 
glee,  while  she  begged 
the  conductor  to  get 
off  and  stop  them,  and  how  he  declined,  on  the 
flimsy  ground  that  he  had  a  wife  and  nine  chil- 
dren to  supx)ort,  and  no  insurance  either  on  the 
top  of  his  head  or  his  life.  Then,  after  a  few  more 
rehearsals,  arrows  would  fly  right  in  at  the  win- 
dow where  she  was  sitting,  and  one  or  more  pas- 


FAMILY    EEASONS. 


222  A   HAREOWIXG   TALE. 

sengers  would  be  killed.  One  arrow  would  pass 
through  her  bonnet.  The  train  would  be  a  scene 
of  the  wildest  confusion  and  carnage.  And  at 
last,  after  the  old  lady  had  been  gathered  to 
her  mothers,  her  grandchildren  would  tell  their 
grandchildren  about  their  noble  old  grand- 
mother and  their  brave,  gallant  grandfather, 
who  both  fell  by  the  hand  of  outnumbering 
savages,  while  defending  a  railway  train  from 
the  attack  of  a  band  of  Sioux  Indians,  under 
the  command  of  Sitting  Bull,  whom  their 
grandfather,  just  before  he  died,  killed  with  his 
own  hand.  And  thus  a  grand,  thrilling  page 
of  family  history  will  grow  out  of  my  unaffected 
little  romance  to  the  inquisitive  old  lady. 

I  will  not  get  anything  for  it,  it  is  true. 
The  family  will  never  thank  me  ;  the  old  lady 
will  not  leave  me  a  cent,  although  I  am  the 
founder  of  the  one  page  of  greatness  in  their 
family  history.  But  why  should  we  be  sordid 
and  grasping  and  selfish  ?  Is  it  not  our  dut}"  to 
do  all  the  good  we  can  in  this  world  ?  It  is,  and 
I  will  not  shrink  from  the  performance  of  any 
duty  that  may  come  to  my  hands,  although  the 
accomplishment  of  this  pledge  should  compel 
me  to  lie  to  half  the  people  I  meet  on  the  train. 


SHAVIXG   AGAINST  TIME.  223 


SHAYIXG  AGAIXST  TIME. 

I  HAD  an  hour  to  wait  in  St.  Joseph,  and  I 
improved  my  time  in  the  busy,  solid  old  city 
by  cleaning  up.  I  came  out  of  the  bath,  look- 
ing like  Venus  rising  from  the  sea  foam. 
Indeed,  I  think  I 

"Looked  a  sea  Cybele,  fresh  from  ocean;" 

I  never  saw  a  sea  Cybele,  but  I  think  I 
looked  like  one.  And  I  never  heard  of  a  sea 
Cybele  waiting  in  a  St.  Joe  barber  shop  to 
get  shaved,  either.  And  I  don' t  believe  there 
ever  was  a  sea  Cybele  who  lived  long  enough 
to  wait,  either.  I  waited.  I  saw  the  barber 
lather  the  face  of  the  man  in  the  chair.  It  was 
five  o'clock,  and  my  train  started  at  o:47. 
Good ;  there  was  plenty  of  time.  I  waited. 
The  man  in  the  chair  went  to  sleep,  and  the  bar- 
ber lathered  his  face  and  washed  it,  and  washed 
it  and  lathered  it.  He  laved  it  with  warm  water 
and  dried  it  with  towels.  He  critically  exam- 
ined the  cheeks  and  investigated  the  chin.  He 
fingered  the  man's  bristly  mustache  and  ran 
his  fingers   meditatively    through    the   sitters' 


224  SIIAVIXG   AGAIXST  TIME. 

hair.  Then  he  strapped  a  razor  and  gazed  ont 
cf  tlie  window  witli  a  far  awa\',  dreamy  look, 
and  I  saw  that  his  soul  was  dwelling  in  the 
shadowy  aisles  of  the  Long  Ago,  and  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  call  him  back,  although  it  was 
fifteen  minutes  past  five,  and  the  sleeping  man's 
face  had  not  been  touched  by  the  razor  yet. 
Presently  the  barber  sighed,  and  turning  to  the 
patient,  rubbed  his  sleeping  cheek  with  his 
fingers,  and  appeared  to  be  on  the  point  of  ask- 
ing him  who  he  was,  what  he  was  doing  there, 
and  what  he  wanted.  But  then  he  looked  down 
at  his  razor  in  an  absent  kind  of  way  as  though 
it  was  something  he  never  saw  before  ;  a  gleam 
of  living  intelligence  lightened  his  face,  and  he 
came  back  into  the  land  of  activity  and  life  ;  he 
turned  the  razor  over  once  or  twice  as  though  he 
wasn't  quite  certain  whether  to  shave  the  m,an 
with  the  edge  or  the  back,  and  then  he  touched 
the  cheek  of  the  sleeper  so  lightly  that  it  never 
disturbed  him. 

Tempus  fugits  a  thousand  miles  a  minute 
I  fidgeted  and  looked  nervously  at  the  clock. 
"  Time,"  said  the  barber,  with  his  silent,  delib- 
erate hand,  ^'is  for  slaves."     He  went  over  that 
man's  face  as  though  he  was  shaving  the  queen 


SHAVIXG   AGAINST   Ti:^E.  225 

of  England.  Bristle  by  bristle  he  mowed  the 
^  stubble  field  of  that  man*s  illimitable  cheek. 
It  was  twenty-five  minutes  after  five,  and  the 
shaver  was  just  making  his  first  swath  on  the 
man's  chin.  I  said,  in  tones  suffused  with 
waiting  anguish  : 

*' When  does  that  train  go  north  on  the  K. 
C.  &C.  B.?" 

The  barber  nursed  his  way  around  a  pimple 
on  the  man's  chin  as  carefully  as  though  it  was 
the  end  of  the  jugular  vein  sticking  out,  and 
stepped  back  to  admire  his  work.  Presently 
he  looked  up  at  the  clock  and  then  he  looked 
at  me  and  then  he  said  : 

'•  Which  train  i" 

I  told  him,  "On  the  K.  C,  St.  J.  &  C.  B.; 
passenger  ;  going  north.'' 

He  turned  the  man's  face  over  to  the  other 
side,  washed  off  the  lather  with  a  sponge,  laid 
on  some  more,  washed  it  off,  dried  the  man's 
face,  washed  it,  lathered  it,  strapped  the  razor 
a  little,  made  an  offer  at  the  man's  cheek,  drew 
^  back,  looked  at  the  razor,  glanced  at  the  clock, 
put  down  the  razor  and  took  a  chew  of  tobacco, 
picked  up  the  razor,  laid  one  hand  on  the  man's 
head  and  was  on  the  point  of  beginning,  when 

15 


226  SHAVING   AGAINST   TIME. 

he  poised  the  razor  in  the  air,  nodded  to  some 
one  across  the  street,  looked  at  me,  and  said : 
"  One  that  goes  to  the  Blnffs  V 
I  said,  "  No,  the  Hopkins  branch." 
The  barber  began  shaving  the  man.     Then  he 
stopped,  looked  at  the  clock,  turned  his  head 
and  looked  out  of  the  window,  then  he  glanced 
at  me  in  a  fixed  manner,  and  said  : 
''I  don't  know." 

He  resumed  his  study  of  that  man's  face 
and  went  over  it  like  an  anatomist.  He  shaved 
it  in  three  different  directions.  He  went  back 
at  it  three  times  after  he  was  through  and 
shaved  some  neglected  spots.  He  laved  and 
stroked  and  dried  and  perfumed  and  powdered 
that  man's  face  until  the  clock  said  it  was 
thirty-nine  minutes  after  five,  and  I  felt  the 
premonitory  symptoms  of  convulsions  and 
nervous  insanity  creeping  over  my  quivering 
limbs. 

Too  late  I  staid — oh,  monstrous  crime, 

I  cursed  the  barber's  whistles ; 
How  noiseless  falls  the  foot  of  time 

That  only  treads  on  bristles. 

He  passed  over  the  man's  hair  until  I  felt 
that  time  had    given  place  to  eternity.      He 


SIIAVIXG    AGAINST   TIME.  227 

rubbed  it  and  dusted  it  ;  he  jDarted  it  four 
times  before  he  got  it  to  suit  him.  He  combed 
it  and  brushed  it  down  so  slick,  that  an  early 
fly,  trying  to  climb  to  the  crown  of  the  man's 
head,  slid  off  and  broke  his  neck.  At  four 
minutes  of  train  time,  the  man,  who  was  now 
wide  awake,  made  an  effort  to  rise  and  get  out 
of  the  chair,  and  my  heart  swelled  with  hope. 
The  barber  pushed  him  back. 

Shadow  of  eternity  I  he  began  to  wax  the 
patient's  mustache.    " 

It  lacked  two  and  one-half  minutes  to  train 
time  when  the  chair  was  empty.  I  shrieked  at 
the  patient  barber  in  2:)rofane  accents,  and  told 
him  I  had  to  be  at  the  depot  at  that  time. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  done  T'  this 
terrible  man  asked  me. 

"Shave!"  I  howled,  with  some  variations 
not  in  the  text. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  quietly,  "climb  into 
the  chair." 

"You  won't  make  me  miss  that  train?"  I 
yelled,  in  a  fever  of  nervous  anxiety. 

He  shook  his  head.  "You  can  walk  down 
there  in  a  minute,"  he  said. 

It  was  wonderful,  the  degree  of  confidence  I 


228  SHAVING    AGAINST   TIME. 

felt  in  that  man's  latent  abilities,  after  I  lu.d 
just  seen  him  take  forty  four  long,  solid,  drag- 
ging minutes  to  shave  a  man  with  less  beard 
than  a  nun.  "Go  ahead,"  I  said,  with  forced 
calmness. 

He  tucked  a  towel  around  my  neck  in  one 
time  and  two  motions. 

"  Swosh  !"  there  was  an  avalanche  of  lather 
from  my  right  ear  to  the  middle  of  mv  chin, 
extending  laterally  from  the  neck  into  the  eye, 
nostrils,  and  one  corner  of  my  mouth. 
"Slosh!"  a  corresj)onding  freshet  inundated 
the  other  side  of  my  face  and  closed  the  left 
eye,  and  lay  on  the  other  corner  of  my  mouth 
like  the  foam  from  a  Buffalo  schooner. 

I  felt  the  barber  s  left  hand  grasp  my  hair. 
"Swoop!"  one  side  of  my  face  was  shaved, 
down  to  the  chin.  "  Swoop  !"  the  other  cheek 
-was  clean.  "  Scrawtch  ;  scrawtch  !"  my  chin  was 
smooth.     "  Rake,  rake  !"  my  hair  was  combed. 

"Fifteen  cents  ;  there's  your  train  now,  sir. 
Next !"  said  the  barber. 

I  caught  the  train  and  had  thirty-two 
seconds  to  spare. 


A    FEELING    FEAT. 


229 


A  FEELING   FEAT. 

"  Sing  me,  my  own,"  he  whispered  lovingly, 
as  they  both  sat  down  on  the  one  piano  stool, 
" sing  me  ' Oh  whisper  what  thou  feelest.'  "     "I 
will,  young  man,  I  will," 
said  the  tremulous  tones 
of  her  papa,  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  door.   "  We 
will  sing    it  as    a    duet, 
you  and  I ;    I   will  feel, 
and  you  can  whisper  what 
it  is."     And  then  he  felt 
for  the  boy  with  his  foot, 

and  went  on,  with  unfeeling  indifference.  "  And 
you  needn't  confine  yourself  to  a  whisper, 
necessarily,  in  telling  what  you  feel,  and  what 
it  feels  like.  Give  it  voice,  young  man,  give  it 
voice." 


i 

TWO  SOULS   WITH  BUT  A 
SINGLE  PIA>0  STOOL. 


''I  AM  going  to  Colorado  for  my  health," 
said  young  Keepitup  to  old  Boby shell,  the 
other  day.  *'  Ah  I"  replied  the  old  man,  "  and 
when  did  you  leave  your  health  there  ?" 


230  A    NOCTURNAL     DIARY. 


A  NOCTURNAL  DIARY. 

I  LIKE  to  keep  the  diary  of  a  journal  by 
night.  It  usually  consists  of  one  short  entry, 
made  the  following  morning,  as  follows  ;  to- wit ; 
viz.: 

*'Paid  the  porter  a  quarter." 

The  entry  is  varied,  occasionally.  In  one 
instance,  I  find  it  made  in  my  diary,  in  the  fol- 
lowing expressive  language  : 

''  Told  the  porter  Fd  j)ay  him  a  quarter  next 
time  I  came  that  way." 

And  a  foot-note,  on  the  same  page,  of  a  much 
later  date,  and  referring,  apparently,  to  the 
same  entry,  says  : 

'*  Xever  went  that  way  again." 

But  a  reference  mark  on  the  foot-note  again 
carries  me  over  the  score  or  more  of  pages,  to  a 
still  later  day,  where  I  find  the  equally  signiti- 
cant  entry  : 

'•Met  the  prowling,  dark  Xemesis  on  another 
train." 

This  careless,  loose-jointed  system  of  trans- 
ferring the  Pullman  employees  is  iniquitous  in 
the  extreme,  distressing  to  the  employees,  and 


A   XOCTURXAL    DIARY.  231 

annoying  to  the  traveling  public.  Congress 
ought  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 

When  the  train  on  the  St.  Joseph  &  Denver 
City  Railway  leaves  the  hrst-named  station,  two 
hundred  and  thirty  passengers  try  to  cro^vd 
into  one  hundred  and  twenty  seats.  This  jHits 
us  on  the  best  possible  terms  with  each  other. 
I  am  assigned  to  a  seat  already  occupied  by  a 
young  gentleman  with  legs  as  long  as  cotton- 
wood  trees,  and  two  valises.  I  wonder  where 
he  is  going  to  put  his  feet.  The  question 
doesn't  seem  to  bother  him  a  bit.  He  solves  it 
without  a  struggle.     He  puts  them  in  my  lai). 

I  am  pleased. 

But  I  do  not  say  so. 

Neither  do  I  look  very  much  like  it. 

But  while  I  am  pleased  and  proud  to  nurse 
his  feet,  I  resist  his  efforts  at  familiar  conversa- 
tion. I  do  not  aj)prove  of  encouraging  familiar- 
ity in  strangers.     He  says  : 

''  What  mout  land  be  wuth  around  here  T' 

I  feel  myself  turn  pale,  for  I  recognize 
accents  that  I  once  heard,  earlier  in  the  season, 
down  in  Maine.  I  tell  him  that  I  don't  know  ; 
that  nobody  really  knows  ;  that  the  worth  of 
land,  its  actual,  absolute  worth,  and  its  market 


232  A    XOCTURXAL    DIAKY. 

value,  are,  indissolubly  and  indiscriminately, 
per  se,  and  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  two 
very  distinct  considerations. 

"  Howf  he  says. 

*' Readily  enough,"  I  tell  him;  "the  very 
hypotheses  which  underlie  the  stability  of  all 
{government,  the  binocular  theories  which  con- 
taminate the  indigenous  type  of  all  marsupial 
and  otherwise  indeterminate  forms,  affect  each 
other,  neither  more  or  less,  but  rather  approx- 
imateh\" 

He  "  'lowed  that  mout  be  so,  but  he  couldn't 
see  what  it  lied  to  dew  with  price  of  land.'' 

I  said  very  coldly,  that  if  he  tried  to  buy 
land  in  Kansas  he'd  mighty  soon  find  out  what 
it  had  to  do  with  it.  Then  I  rudely  pushed 
away  his  feet,  and  he  put  them  affectionately 
upon  the  shoulders  of  a  jiatient  man  sitting  just 
before  him. 

We  pass  Hiawatha.  I  don' t  know  why  the 
town  is  so  named.  A  distant  creek  is  apparent, 
and  I  suppose  there  is  Hiawatha  in  the  spring 
than  there  is  in  the  summer.  Now  don' t  swear 
and  act  like  a  three-ply  idiot.  I  don't  often  do 
anything  of  that  kind,  and  you  don't  need  to 
read  this  unless  you  want  to. 


A    XOCTURXAL    DIAEY.  233 

At  Sabetha,  the  train  is  halted  alongside  of 
a  cattle  train,  while  the  other  cattle,  those  in 
the  passenger  car,  go  up  town  and  get  dinner. 
After  dinner  the  passengers  solemnly  contem- 
plate the  cattle,  packed  in  at  the  rate  of  about 
three  or  four  to  the  square  inch. 

''How  on  earth,''  asks  a  young  lady,  a  very- 
pretty  young  lady,  who  gets  off  at  Seneca, 
'*  how  on  earth  do  they  pack  them  in  so  close  f 

'-Why."  asks  a  mild-looking  young  man, 
with  tender  blonde  whiskers  and  wistful  blue 
eyes — he  is  an  escaped  divinity  student,  just 
going  out  to  take  charge  of  a  Baptist  church  in 
western  Kansas— '*  Why,"  he  says,  '^did  you 
never  see  them  load  cattle  into  a  car  T' 

''Xo,"  said  the  pretty  Seneca  girl,  with  a 
quick  look  of  interest,  **  I  never  did  ;  how  do 
they  doit  r' 

"Why,''  the  divinity  student  remarked, 
slowly  and  very  earnestly,  "they  drive  them 
all  in  except  one,  a  big  fellow,  with  thin 
shoulders  and  broad  quarters  ;  they  save  him 
for  a  wedge,  and  drive  him  in  with  a  hammer.'' 

Somehow  or  other  it  didn't  look  hardly  fair 
to  me  ;  nobody  protested  against  its  admission, 
however,  so  it  went  on  record,  but  the  conver- 


234  A    XOCTURXAL    DIARY. 

sation  went  into  utter  bankruiitcy  right  there, 
and  the  theological-looking  young  man  was  the 
only  person  in  the  car  who  looked  supremely 
satisfied  with  himself. 

All  the  way  from  Burlington  to  Hopkins  I 
peacefully  snored  in  an  upper  berth.  I  never 
get  any  other.  I  always  reach  the  conductor 
just  in  time  to  learn  that  he'll  ''have  to  give 
me  an  upper  berth."  All  this  winter  I  have 
lived  on  the  road,  and  never  got  a  lower  berth 
but  once.  That  was  on  the  St.  Louis  sleeper  of 
the  C,  B.  &  Q.  road,  which  has  no  upper 
berths.  And  when  I  went  to  get  into  my  lowly 
couch  that  night,  I  was  so  accustomed  to  climb- 
ing into  my  lofty  berch  from  stejo-ladders  and 
porters'  boxes,  that  I  didn't  know  how  to  get 
into  a  low  one,  and  the  porter  boosted  me  uj)  to 
the  curtain  rod,  which  I  scrambled  over,  and 
tumbled  down  inside.  Why,  about  one-fifth  of 
my  life,  this  winter,  has  been  spent  dangling 
between  heaven  and  eartli,  clinging  to  the  edge 
of  an  upper  berth,  feeling  for  the  floor  with  my 
feet.  There  is  some  mistake  about  this.  Mature 
never  intended  me  to  sleep  in  an  upper  berth, 
else  she  had  given  me  legs  with  tubular  joints, 
that  would  slide  in  and  out,  like  a  spy -glass. 


A   XOCTURXAL    DIARY. 


235 


I  am  glad  I  am  not  fat.  since  this  relentless 
fate  has  assigned  me  forever  to  the  doom  of  the 
upper  berths.     If  there  is  anything  that  ^yould 
make  a  snake  laugh,  it  would  be  the  spectacle 
of  a  fat  man,  a  little  along  in  years,  with  a  head 
rather  of  the  bald  baldy,  and  wide  suspenders 
flapping  and  dangling  down  his  legs,  puffing, 
squirming  and  kicking   over   the   edge   of   an 
upper  berth,  trying  to  get  in,  grabbing  at  the 
yielding,  unhelpful  pillows,  balancing  himself 
on  his  stomach  while  he  tears  his  bed  to  pieces 
with   frantic   snatches,  and   at   the   same   time 
kicks  the  immortal  breath  out  of  the  man  in 
the   opposite  berth,   and   at   last, 
with   a  hollow  groan,  comes  slid- 
ing down,  landing  astride  of   the 
neck   of    the  man  who   is   sitting 
on   the  edge  of   the  lower  berth, 
unbuttoning  his  shoes.    It  usually 
winds  up  by  his  giving  some  man 
a  dollar  and  lifty  cents  to   trade 
berths  with  him. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that 
the  old  fat  man  is  very  sensitive  on  this  subject, 
and  doesn't  like  to  be  joked  about  it.  One 
night,  after  I  had  laughed  myself  blind  at  just 


DOWNFALL      OF 
GEEATXESS. 


236  A   NOCTURNAL    DIARY. 

such  a  scene  as  I  have  described,  I  heard  the 
fat  man  ask,  with  great  sadness  of  voice,  if  any- 
body wouldn't  like  to  exchange  berths  with 
him.     Moved  with  pity  I  said,  **  I  would." 

"All  right,"  said  the  perspiring  fat  man, 
''mine's  upper  five,  but  you'll  have  to  get  the 
porter  to  make  it  up  again  before  you  get  it. 
It's  kind  of  tore  all  to  pieces,"  he  added,  rather 
apologetically. 

And  he  was  correct,  for  I  could  see  it  lying 
all  over  the  floor  of  the  car. 

"Which  is  your  berth  ^"  he  asked,  as,  with 
a  grateful  glow  on  his  face,  he  prepared  to  drop 
into  it. 

"Upper  seven,"  I  said,  "next  one  to 
yours." 

And  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  called  quite  so 
many  names  in  five  minutes,  all  different  and 
none  complimentary,  in  all  my  life,  as  I  was 
then.  I  will  never  again  try  to  be  accommodat- 
ing in  a  sleeping  car. 


The  Shah  of  Persia  does  not  pay  his  debts. 
Shake!  old  Xasser-ud-deen  ;  what  do  you  do 
with  yourself  about  the  first  of  the  month  ? 


TWO   DARING   MEN.  237 


TWO  DARING  MEN. 

Ox   the   way  from   Terre   Haute — whicli   is 
indifferently  pronounced  Ter  Hut,  Terry  Hawt, 
Terry  Hot.  and  Terra  Hote— down  to  Princeton 
we  passed   tlirougb  a   station   called   Sullivan, 
where  two  men  got  on  the  train  in  a  state,  or 
ratlier  in  two  states,  of  the  wildest  excitement. 
Only   about   fifteen    minutes   before   the   train 
reached    the    town,    a   terrible    explosion    had 
occurred  in  a  coal  mine  ;  a  column  of  smoke 
and  slate  and  broken  timbers  and  flame  had 
shot  up  into  the  air  from   the  mouth   of   the 
shaft,  like  a  volcano  ;  the  debris  had  choked  up 
the  shaft,  and  thirty  men  were  imprisoned  in 
the  mine.     And  nothing,  these  two  passengers 
declared,  was  being  done.     People  were  stand- 
ing around  horror-stricken,  they  said  ;  nobody 
would  go  down  ;   nobody  would  do  anything. 
"Oh,"  they  shouted,  while  the  people  in  the 
car  looked  at  them  with  undisguised  admira- 
tion,   "oh,  if   they   only  had   had   time,   they 
would  have  headed  a  rescue  party  and  brought 
those  suffering  miners  to  light  and  safety." 
"  I  would  have  gone  down  into  that  shaft," 


238  TWO   DA  KING   MEX. 

said  the  fir>t  noble   passenger,  "if   I   knew   I 
would  never  come  out  alive." 

"I  would  not  hold  my  life  worth  that," 
shouted  the  second  noble  passenger,  snapping 
his  fingers,  "when  the  thought  of  those  poor 
fellows  suffering  untold  and  unknown  horrors 
and  agony  down  in  the  burning  mine." 

"If  the  train  had  only  been  an  hour  later," 
cried  the  first  noble  passenger,  "it  woukl  have 
found  me  do\^Ti  in  that  mine  when  it  came 
along." 

"If  I  had  thouc:ht  the  conductor  would 
have  waited  for  me,"  exclaimed  the  second 
noble  passenger,  "I  would  have  gone  down 
anyhow." 

And  the  passengers  could  not  repress  a  mur- 
mur of  admiration.  An  old  man,  who  was 
chewing  cardamon  seeds  for  his  catarrh,  said  : 

"  There  is  another  train  comes  down  in  about 
three  hours." 

But  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  him  ex- 
cept to  frown  at  him,  and  then  they  turned 
again  to  look  at  the  two  noble,  daring  passen- 
gers, and  shudder  at  the  thought  of  their  reck- 
lessness. 

"Oh,"   the  two  noble  passengers  cried  in 


TWO    DARIXG   MEX.  239 

unison,  '' we  couldn't  get  anybody  to  go  down 
J  that  shaft.  We  begged,  and.  commanded,  and 
did  all  that  mortal  men  could  do,  but  we 
couldn't  get  anybody  to  go  down." 

I  rather  expected  this  was  true.  I  have  no 
doubt  of  it. 

"I  wonder,"  said  the  first  noble  passenger, 
"if  the  conductor  wouldn't  run  the  train  back 
and  wait  for  us?" 

"1  wonder?"  shouted  the  second  noble  pas- 
senger, enthusiastically,  "let's  ask  him  !" 

And  the  burst  of  admiration  from  the  other 
passengers  was  so  strong  that  I  thought  they 
were  going  to  raise  a  purse  for  the  rescuers  on 
the  spot.  But  the  train  passed  on,  while  the 
two  rescuers  kept  declaring  they  had  a  good 
mind  to  get  off  and  walk  back,  because  nobody 
up  at  Sullivan  would  do  anything.  And, 
finally,  they  did  get  off  at  a  little  station  about 
thirteen  miles  down  the  road  ;  and  what  do  you 
suppose  was  the  important  business  that  had 
dragged  them  away  from  the  rescue  of  twenty 
or  thirty  perishing  men  ? 

There  was  a  man  down  there  they  heard  had 
a  cow  to  sell,  and  when  they  got  off  the  train  they 
learned  that  he  had  sold  her  two  days  before. 


240  A   PRACTICAL   MAX. 


A  PRACTICAL  MAN. 

SoMETiiixG  about  the  engineer,  his  face  or 
his  manner,  or  possibly  his  clothes,  attracted 
my  attention.  Anyhow,  I  wanted  to  talk  to 
him  and  hear  him  talk  about  his  engine.  There 
is  always  a  wonderful  fascination  about  railway 
engineers  and  locomotives  and  railroad  men 
generally,  for  all  people,  and  I  am  and  have 
always  been  especially  susceptible  to  this  fasci- 
nation. Were  you  ever  at  Creston,  Iowa  ?  And 
did  you  ever  stop  at  the  old  Creston  House  ?  I 
have  sat,  quiet  and  motionless,  in  its  sitting- 
room,  by  the  hour,  listening  to  the  clatter  of  the 
train  men  about  me.  Creston  is  the  Hornellsville 
of  Iowa.  ''By  thunder  I*'  one  man  would  be 
shouting,  "I  looked  out  of  the  way-car  window 
and  saw  old  Flanigan  comin'  down  the  main 
line  lickety  split,  thirty  miles  an  hour  if  he  was 

makiu'  a  mile,  and  I ''   " switch  open 

and   two  coaches  on  the  siding,"  says  an  engi- 


neer, "and  I  squealed   for  brakes  an'  throwed 
her  clear  over,  and  you  should  see  the  fire  fly 

out  of  them  rails,  and  before  *'      "  Well, 

sir,"  somebody  else  from  some  other  run  chimes 


A   PRACTICAL   MAX.  241 

in,  ''I  twisted  that  blamed  old  brake  till  I 
thought  I'd   twist   it   off;    hold   nothing,   you 

couldn't  hold "      "Aw^,    she    is    though; 

she's  the  prettiest  piece  of  iron  on  this  division  ; 

she's  quick  as  a  "     "Who  Avent  out  on 

No.  37  last  night?"  And  so  on  through  a 
charming  confusion  of  throttle  and  lever  and 
lamp  and  draw-bar,  fire-box,  cylinder-cocks, 
way-cars,  frogs,  switches,  trucks,  tanks,  claw- 
bars,  cattle-guard,  platform-cars,  chairs,  cross- 
frogs,  signals,  flags,  and  a  thousand  things  that 
I  didn't  know  anything  about.  I  rather  liked 
it.  But  before  I  could  get  to  this  engineer  I 
was  speaking  of,  who  had  a  passenger  engine  on 
the  Indianapolis,  Bloomington  &  Western, 
another  had  already  engaged  him  in  conversa- 
tion. I  am  always  willing  to  let  anybody  else 
make  a  fool  of  himself  and  ask  the  questions, 
just  so  I  get  the  benefit  of  the  answers,  so  I  let 
him  talk  while  I  hung  around  and  listened. 
This  ma5  wasn't  like  an}^  engineer  I  had  ever 
made  friends  with  before.  He  was  an  awfully 
practical  fellow,  the  passenger  said. 

"  Yours  is  a  very  exciting  life." 

"Is  it?"  said  the  engineer,  with  an  air  of 
interest. 

16 


242  A   PRACTICAL   MAN. 

*'  Well,"  said  the  passenger,  quieted  a  little 
bit,  "I  meant,  isn't  itf' 

"  Oh,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  satisfied  accent. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "Well,  I  don't  know;  do 
you  see  anything  very  exciting  about  this  T' 

He  was  lazily  stretched  out  on  his  cushion, 
dividing  up  his  pajjerof  fine  cut,  putting  all  but 
one  "chew"  of  it  into  his  vest  pocket,  and  put- 
ting the  one  "  chew"  into  his  tobacco-pouch,  so 
that  he  could  show  the  fireman  that  was  all  he 
had,  when  that  useful  official  should  ask  for  it. 

The  passenger  fidgeted  a  little,  but  didn't 
seem  to  want  to  give  it  up.  I  didn't  know  how 
to  feel  glad  enough  that  I  hadn't  gone  into  the 
catechism  business  with  the  quiet  man. 

"Well,"  said  the  passenger,  after  a  little 
while,  "are  we  pretty  near  ready  to  pull  out  f ' 

"  Pull  what  out  f  asked  the  engineer. 

"  Why,  the  train." 

"  Train  isn  t  in  anything.    Train's  all  right." 

"Well,"  said  the  passenger,  "  I  mean,  are 
we  nearl\^  ready  to  go  ?" 

"  I  am,''  quietly  remarked  the  engineer,  "are 
your' 

"  You  have  a  splendid  engine  there,"  said 
the  passenger. 


A    PRACTICAL    MAX.  243 

**Tain't  mine,''  replied  the  sphinx,  "it  be- 
longs to  the  company." 

"  How  much  can  yoii  get  out  of  lier  ?"  asked 
the  passenger. 

The  engineer  looked  surprised.  '•  Can't  get 
a  cent  out  of  it,"  he  said  ;  "  can't  get  anything 
out  of  anybody  except  the  paymaster." 

"  Well,  but  I  mean,"  persisted  the  passen- 
ger, "what  can  she  do,  on  a  good  road,  easy 
grade,  and  you  cracking  on  every  pound  of 
steam  she  can  carry  ?" 

"It  can  pull  the  train,"  he  said;  "what 
would  you  expect  it  to  do  ?" 

"Well,  but  how  fast?" 

"  Schedule  time,"  was  the  reply,  "  that's  all 
we're  allowed  to  make  ;  must  make  our  time 
between  all  stations.  That's  imperative  orders 
on  the  L,  B.  &  W." 

"Well,  but  couldn't  you  pull  her  wide  open 
and ' ' 

"  Pull  who  wide  open  ?" 

"Why,  her— 3-our  engine,  and  give  her 
sand  and " 

"  Why  should  I  give  it  sand  ?" 

"  To  make  her  run  faster." 


244  A    PRACTICAL   MAN. 

*^Sand  does  not  increase  the  speed  of  an 
engine,  steam  is  the  only  motive  power." 

''But  you  give  her  sand  on  a  heavy  grade 
and ' ' 

"Excuse  me,  I  never  give  an  engine  sand. 
The  sand  is  poured  on  the  rail." 

"Oh,  well,  you  know  what  I  mean.  You 
give  her  steam,  you  know,  and " 

"Xo,"  he  said,  "I  do  not,  I  merely  move 
the  throttle  lever,  thus  opening  the  regulator 
valve,  and  the  steam  is  introduced  to  the  proper 
portions  of  the  machinery  in  simple  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  physics.  I  have  no  control  over 
it,  beyond  regulating  the  supply." 

"Did  you  ever,"  said  the  despairing  passen- 
ger, ''come  so  near  a  collision  that  you  had  to 
throw  her  clear  over  and " 

"No,"  the  man  said  very  gravely,  "and  I 
never  expect  to.  It  couldn't  be  done.  Xo 
one  man  could  throw  this  engine  clear  over.  It 
weighs  thirty -five  tons." 

"I  suppose,"  the  passenger  obstinately  per- 
sisted, "that  when  you  start  out  with  a  heavy 
train  you  have  to  hold  her  awfully  close  to  the 
rails  r' 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,"  he  said, 


A   PRACTICAL    MAX.  245 

"  the  laws  of  gravitation  and  friction  control  all 
that.  I  presume  my  weight  on  the  engine  adds 
somewhat  to  its  pressure  on  the  rail,  although 
of  course  that  amounts  to  very  little  in  com- 
parison with  the  weight  of  the  engine." 

The  passenger  wiped  the  beaded  perspiration 
from  his  brow. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "how  do  you  like  life  on 
the  foot-board,  anyhow  T' 

"I  don't  live  on  the  foot-board,"  the  en- 
gineer said,  "  I  live  at  home." 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  running  on  the 
road,  then  <" 

"I  don't  run  ;  I  ride." 

The  conductor  came  along  just  here  and 
handed  the  man  in  the  cab  a  bit  of  yellow 
paper,  and  then  shouted  "All  aboard."  The 
passenger,  with  a  grateful  expression  of  counte- 
nance, said,  "  Thank  heaven  !"  as  he  went  back 
and  climbed  on  the  rear  platform  of  the  last 
car,  as  far  away  from  the  engine  as  he  could 
get,  and  I  heard  the  engineer,  as  I  turned  away, 
growling  about  people  who  "always  wanted  to 
talk  shop."  It  was  a  terribly  narrow  escape  for 
me,  but  I  made  it,  and  I  rather  enjoyed  it.  Provi- 
dence always  does  take  care  of  the  truly  good. 


246  A    MYSTERIOUS    ACCIDENT. 


A   MYSTERIOUS  ACCIDENT. 

OxE  bright  morning,  early  in  October,  I  was 
on  Dave  Blackburn's  train  on  the  Keokuk  divi- 
sion of  the  Chicago,  Burlington  &  Quincy 
railroad.  We  were  running  so  fast  that  the 
noise  of  the  wheels  was  rattling  along  about 
two  hundred  yards  behind  the  train,  doing  its 
level  best  to  keep  in  sight,  but  losing  ground 
every  jump.  Suddenly  the  train  stopped. 
Away  out  between  stations,  no  cattle  on  the 
track,  no  water  tank  in  sight,  nothing  appar- 
ently to  stop  for.  She  pulled  up  so  close  to  an 
orchard  that  the  farmer  came  out  and  sat  on  the 
fence  with  a  gun  in  his  hand,  and  a  couple  of 
bold,  bad  dogs,  looking  deceitfully  pleasant, 
tagging  along  at  his  heels.  He  evidently  didn't 
care  about  setting  up  the  apples.  The  passen- 
gers were  alarmed,  not  at  the  determined  neu- 
trality of  the  farmer,  but  at  the  sudden  stop- 
page of  the  train.  They  knew  something 
serious  had  happened.  Presently  the  fireman 
came  walking  down  along  the  side  of  the  track, 
looking  carefully,  as  though  he  had  dropjjed 
liis  diamond  out  of  the  cab  window. 


A    MYSTERIOUS    ACCIDEXT.  247 

*'  What  is  it  ?"  asked  the  iirst  passenger. 

*'What  is  the  matter  T'  asked  the  second 
passenger. 

*'  What  has  happened  Y'  asked  the  third  pas- 
senger. 

"  AVhat  broke  ?"  asked  the  fourth  passenger. 

^'Why  did  we  stopT'  asked  the  iifth  x)as- 
senger. 

"  What's  up  V  asked  the  sixth  passenger. 

"What's  broke  loose '^''  asked  the  seventh 
passenger. 

"  What  done  it  ?''  asked  the  eighth  passen- 
ger. 

"Broke  a  spring -hanger,''  gravely  replied 
the  fireman,  and  passed  on,  and  all  the  ques- 
tioning passengers  drew  their  heads  back  and 
closed  their  windows,  and  with  great  gravity  was 
repeated  the  fireman's  statement  to  the  other 
passengers  who  had  not  been  able  to  get  to  a 
window  in  time  to  ask  the  fireman  anything  : 

"  Broke  a  spring-hammer." 

"  Broke  a  sling-hainer." 

"Brolve  a  screen-hanger." 

"  Broke  a  string-hammer." 

"Broke  a  string-ander." 

"Broke  a  scene-hanner.*' 


248  A    MYSTEKIOUS    ACCIDENT. 

*'  Broke  a  steam-hammer." 

"  Broke  a  swing-hanger." 

"  Broke  a  bean  spanker. '* 

"Broke  a  hair-banger." 

And  if  Benjamin  Franklin  and  George 
Washington  and  Christopher  Columbus  had 
been  in  that  coach,  they  couldn'  t  have  looked 
wiser  nor  been  more  thoroughly  ignorant  of  the 
nature  of  the  accident,  than  the  awe-struck  i)as- 
sengers  who  imparted  and  received  this  infor- 
mation and  tried  to  look  as  though  they  weren't 
w^ondering  what  it  was.  There  should  be  a  law 
compelling  railroad  people  to  speak  United 
States  when  imparting  information  relative  to 
the  nature  of  accidents,  to  the  inquiring  pas- 
sengers. There  wasn'  t  a  passenger  in  that  coach 
that  ever  expected  to  see  good  Dave  Blackburn 
or  the  engineer  alive  again.  AVe  all  supposed 
that  when  a  spring-hanger  broke,  it  just  tore 
the  engine  all  to  pieces,  stood  it  on  end  and 
rammed  it  into  the  ground,  and  then  ran  on 
ahead,  tore  up  the  track,  set  lire  to  a  bridge 
and  blew  up  a  culvert.  The  average  passenger 
has  an  idea  that  a  spring-hanger  owns  about 
the  whole  engine,  that  it  is  one  of  those  things 
that  can  even  swear  at  a  brakeman  and  walk  up 


SCIENCE    VS.    IMPULSE.  249 

to  a  baggageman  and  call  him  a  ''wooden- 
headed,  flat-backed,  trunk-liftin'  hnrricane  of 
wrath,"  and  consequently  when  a  passenger  is 
told  that  the  spring-hanger  is  broke,  he  has  an 
impression  that  it  will  take  every  last  dollar 
there  is  on  the  train  to  set  the  old  thing  up 
again. 


SCIENCE  vs.  IMPULSE. 

It  is  very  easy  to  write  long  articles,  pro- 
found with  medical  learning  and  wisdom  ad- 
vising people,  as  they  value  health  and  life,  to 
avoid  "hurrying"  and  excitement"  during  the 
heated  term  ;  but  when  a  man  is  only  ten  feet 
away  from  a  petulant  gentleman  cow,  and  sixty- 
five  feet  away  from  the  nearest  point  in  the 
pasture  fence  which  they  are  both  heading  for 
with  all  the  intensity  of  purpose  that  can 
actuate  living  creatures,  who  is  going  to  stop 
and  feel  his  pulse  to  see  whether  he  is  in  more 
^  of  a  hurry  than  is  warranted  by  the  laws  of 
hygiene  ? 


250  MISSED   HIS   COUNT. 


MISSED    HIS    COUNT. 

The  neighbor's  cat  had  clawed  the  baby, 
and  the  man  was  going  out  to  the  wood- pile, 
with  his  ax  over  his  shoulder  and  the  cat 
under  his  arm.  "Carom  me  back  to  the 
house,'-  said  the  cat,  who  appeared  to  be  chalk 
full  of  emotion,  ''that  ought  not  to  count,  it 
was  only  a  scratch.''  The  man  took  his  cue,  and 
looked  thoughtful.  "True,"  he  said,  "and 
this  is  only  an  accident."  And  he  laid  the 
feline  across  the  block  and  held  it  down  with 
his  foot,  and  swinging  the  ax  above  his  head, 
brought  it  down  with  dreadful  force.  There 
was  a  moment  of  dreadful  silence,  and  then, 
while  the  cat,  from  her  high  seat  on  the  neigh- 
bor's shed,  sang,  "Oh,  wauly,  wauly,  up  the 
bank,"  the  man  scraped  around  in  the  chips  to 
find  his  three  toes,  and  carried  them  in  to  his 
w^ife,  and  asked  her  if  she  supposed  the  doctor 
could  sew  them  on  when  he  came. 


INFORMATION,    GOSSIP   AND 
PHILOSOPHY. 


(IN  CROIBS.*) 


THE  STORY  OF  IXNACH  GARDEN. 

"  Arma.  virumque  cano  ;" 

The  man  with  two  arms  and  a  hoe, 

I  sing. 

The  spring 

Saw  him  with  spade  and  hoe  and  rake, 

AVitli  back  and  arms  that  burn  and  ache, 

Dig  and  swear 

At  the  hard  earth,  where 

Over  the  adamantine  sod 

All  winter  long  the  family  trod. 

*  "We  would  have  served  this  chapter  on  the  half-shell, 
but  we  edited  the  book  in  August,  and  couldn't  extract  an 
"r"  out  of  the  shell  anyway.  You  can  only  get  it  in 
"  crumbs  "  out  of  season. 

[251] 


252  THE   STORY    OF   INNACII   GARDEN. 

All  day  long  like  a  slave  he  wrought  ; 

The  spade  was  dull  and  the  day  was  hot ; 

When  a  cooler  or  softer  place  he  sought, 

Sunstrokes  and  brick-bats  filled  the  spot. 

From  rosy  dawn, 

Till  the  day  was  gone, 

AVith  tears  and  groans  he  labored  on. 

By  Luna's  liglit  the  lettuce  bed 

"With  seeds  of  lactuca  sativa  were  fed  ; 

Where  the  onion  wept  at  its  breathful  taste 

The  bulbs  of  the  allium  cepa  he  placed  ; 

And  you  never  have  seen  a 

More  charming  verbena 

Than  those  he  put  in  the  oblong  mound 

With  viola  tncolor  bordered  round  ; 

And  on  each  side  of  the  Avalk  from  the  gate  a 

Row  of  the  reseda  odorata ; 

Back  in  the  kitchen-garden  bed, 

Maphamis  Sativiis,  white  and  red  ; 

Where  the  tall  poles  burden  the  haunted  air,  is 

The  place  where  he  ^]ants  phaseolus  vulgaris  ; 

All  of  the  seeds  that  the  grocer  had, 

Lots  of  things  good,  and  some  things  bad  ; 

Things  that  he  didn't  know  how  to  spell ; 

Roots  that  bite  and  bulbs  that  smell  ; 

Unknown  vines  of  suspicious  breeds  ; 

Sprouts  that  come  up  and  turn  to  weeds ; 


THE   STORY    OF   IXXACH   GARDEN.  253 

Things  it  would  poison  the  children  to  pull — 
Every  inch  of  his  garden  filled  it  full. 

Daybreak  came,  and  its  earliest  ray 

Smiled  on  the  garden  just  as  it  lay. 

Eight  o'clock,  and  the  man  went  down 

To  his  office  desk  in  the  busy  town. 

Kine,  and  his  family  flitted  away 

"With  a  rich  relation  to  spend  the  day. 

Then, 

Just  as  the  whistles  were  tolling  ten, 

A  hen. 

Pride  of  the  flock  that  lived  next  door 
(Xumbering  a  hundred  and  seventy-four), 
Peeped  through  a  crack  of  the  neighbor's  fence, 
And  said  to  her  comrades  :  "Lettuce,  hens  !" 

Hens  ! 

They  came  by  ones,  by  scores,  by  tens  ; 

Gallus  old  birds,  a  clarion  crew, 

Came  with  the  crowd,  as  they  always  do  ; 

Bantams,  hardly  as  big  as  a  match. 

But  worse  than  a  snow-plow  on  the  scratch  ; 

Dorking  fowls  that  make  things  whirr 

When  they  dig  up  the  ground  with  their  extra  spur  ; 

Malays  and  Hamburgs,  spangled  and  plain, 

White-checked  chickens  that  hail  from  Spain  ; 


254 


TnE   STORY   OF   IXNACII   GARDEN". 


Fighting  game-chickens,  Polands  black, 
Guinea  hens,  with  eternal  "  squack  ;" 
liens  with  chicks  that  weetled  and  cried, 
Hens  bereaved,  whose  weetles  had  died  ; 
Giddy  young  hens  that  never  had  set, 


.^^^.JF- ^ 


"  RAISING  "    A    GARDEN. 

Grave  old  hens  that  were  at  it  yet  ; 
Portly  old  roosters  solemn  and  stout  ; 
Old-time  bruisers  with  one  eye  out  ; 
Hens,  with  broods  of  awkward  ducks. 
That  gave  no  heed  to  their  anxious  clucks, 
And  never  regarding  their  worried  looks. 
Plunged  into  gutters  and  ponds  and  brooks  ; 
Mortified  roosters,  with  tail  feathers  lost ; 


THE   STORY   OF  LXXACH   GARDEN.  253 

Fowls  whose  claws  were  nipped  by  the  frost  ; 

Business-like  birds,  with  no  ear  for  fun  ; 

Pullets  whose  troubles  were  just  begun  ; 

Tough  old  fowls,  for  the  boarders'  collation  ; 

Yellow-legged  hens  of  the  Western  persuasion, 

Bright  geras  in  the  circuit  rider's  vacation  ; 

Baptist-like  ducks,  with  their  awkward  totter, 

Hunting  around  for  some  waist-deep  water  ; 

Blue-looking  turkeys,  scratching  a  living, 

Fore-ordained  to  die  next  Thanksgiving, 

And  here  in  the  mob  was  a  solemn  passel 

Of  geese,  with  tremendous  feet  for  a  wrastle, 

Not  much  on  the  scratch,  but  'twas  easily  seen 

They  were  worse  on  grass  than  a  mowing-machine. 

"Where  they  all  came  from  nobody  knew, 

But  over  the  fence  in  clouds  they  flew ; 

And  into  the  garden  for  life  or  death, 

They  scratched  till  they  panted,  out  of  breath  ; 

Ko  pause,  no  stop,  no  stay  for  rest, 

Till  the  sun  went  down  in  the  crimson  West ; 

Till  the  man  came  home  from  his  work  and  found 

The  yawning  clefts  in  the  riven  ground. 

And  he  gazed  for  a  space,  with  a  fearful  start,  . 

While  the  deep  sobs  broke  from  his  grateful  heart  ; 

And  he  clasped  in  bis  arms  his  babes  and  spouse, 

"  Thank  Heaven,  the  earthquake  spared  my  house  I" 


25d        THE    MERRY,     MERRY    SPRINGTIME. 


THE    MERKY,  MERRY   SPRINGTIME. 

HE  month  of  April  is 
the  seventh  month  of 
the  year.  It  was  origi- 
nally the  thirteenth, 
but  in  1302,  Augustus 
CsDsar  changed  the 
calendar,  because  he 
had  a  note  to  meet 
in  the  middle  of  the 
month,-  and  didn  t 
"BABY  MINE."  have  a  cent  to  pay  it 

with,  and  so  he  dropped  that  month  out  en- 
tirely, and  April  thus  became  the  third  month, 
as  it  now  is.  It  was  named  after  Aprilis,  the 
god  of  spring,  who  used  to  get  up  on  the  last 
day  of  March,  and  taking  a  paint-pot  and  a 
marking  brush,  go  around  the  country  painting 
Latin  mottoes  and  moral  precepts  and  bursts  of 
poetry  on  the  rocks  and  trees,  among  others, 
the  following  gems  which  have  come  down  to 
our  own  day  : 

*'  Takibus  liverimus  correctore  for  the  Blood- 
ibus." 


THE    MERRY,     MERRY    SPRINGTIME.         257 

*^Dulce  et  ducoram  est  to  take  'rye  and 
rock'  in  the 

"Honey,  tar,  rumque  cano,  for  colds  and 
coughs." 

"  xsox  populi  pro  Bolus's  corn  pilaster  est." 

"  Gissipius  W.  Achates,  ear  and  lung  doc- 
tor." 

''Chew  only  optimus  nave  plug,  ten  cents  a 
hunc." 

"In  hoc  cough  syrup  vinces.  Sign  of  the 
big  mortar." 

"Try  Brown's  magic  lotion  for  freskles." 

Now,  thousands  of  people  used  to  read  these 
things,  and  they  actually  believed  them  and 
tried  them  on.  They  all  died  miserably,  and 
were  called  among  men,  '*  April's  fools."  This 
is  the  origin  of  a  custom  that  has  lasted  even 
unto  our  time.  The  cussed  'em  is  most  vigor- 
ously observed  by  the  man  who  kicks  the  hat 
full  of  bricks. 

The  motto  of  April  is  "Dum  eripuit,  erump," 
which  means,  "Do  not  go  out  of  the  house 
without  an  ulster,  a  duster,  a  chest-jirotector 
and  a  palm-leaf  fan." 

It  is  a  month  devoted  to.  and  by  the  immor- 
tal gods  set  apart  for  weather,  and  sometimes, 
17 


258        THE    MERRY,     MERRY     SPRINGTIBIE. 

in  a  good  April,  that  understands  its  business 
and  can  get  uji  and  bristle  around,  there  are 
eight  kinds  of  climate  in  one  day. 

The  jewel  of  April  is  the  sardonyx,  and  it 
is  said  by  people  who  have  studied  meteorology 
ever  since  the  time  of  Augustus  to  be  the  sar- 
donickest  month  in  the  whole  lot.  The  Fourth 
of  July  used  to  be  April,  but  after  they  tried  it 
a  few  years  it  had  to  be  changed,  on  account  of 
the  weather. 

Perhaps,  however,  in  the  whole  liistory  of 
the  month,  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  in 
April  happened  in  our  house.  It  is  just  two 
j^ears  old  this  week,  and  can  create  a  panic  at 
his  ^'pa's"  desk  among  the  manuscript  and 
papers,  that  can't  be  excelled  by  the  best  efforts 
of  his  natal  month  upon  the  dinner-table  of  a 
premature  jTicnic. 

There  maybe  some  apparent  discrepancies  in 
the  opening  portion  of  the  historical  part  of  this 
sketch  of  April.  It  is,  however,  a  sufficient 
answer  to  any  objections  that  may  be  raised,  to 
say  that  we  believe  wdiat  we  have  written  con- 
cerning this  month,  its  history  and  traditions, 
and  if  we  believe  it,  anybody  can. 


AGEICULTURAL    AFFLICTIONS.  259 


AGRICULTURAL  AFFLICTIONS. 

Fro:m  Angnsta  to  Macomb,  Illinois,  every 
field  is  full  of  plows  and  patient  farmers.  Dear, 
patient,  good-natured,  grumbling  agriculturist. 
Where  the  farmer  gets  his  good  nature  from  is 
a  mystery  to  me  every  time  I  look  at  him.  I 
watched  him  to-day  from  the  car  window, 
plodding  along  at  the  tail  of  the  plow,  and  I 
wondered  that  he  ever  smiled  at  all,  under  any 
provocation.  Of  all  men,  it  seems  to  me  the 
farmer  has  the  best  right  to  grumble.  Only,  he 
never  grumbles  at  the  right  things.  He 
grumbles  at  prices,  and  then,  of  course,  nobody 
sympathizes  with  him  nor  cares  a  cent  for  his 
troubles,  because  we  grumble  at  the  same  thing. 
Prices  never  did  suit  anybody.  The  seller 
always  thinks  they  are  too  low,  and  the  buyer 
always  knows  they  are  too  high.  The  merchant 
goes  into  bankruptcy  because  he  is  compelled 
to  sell  his  goods  for  half  what  they  cost  him ; 
and  the  customer  goes  naked  and  starves  because 
he  can't  afford  to  pay  one-half  what  is  asked 
for  them.  So  the  farmer,  when  he  grumbles  at 
prices,  is  no  worse  off  than  the  rest  of  us,  and 
accordingly  attracts  no  sympathy. 


260  AGKICULTURAL    AFFLICTIONS. 

Down     in     Southern    Indiana,     soniewl.ere 
about  Seymour,  they  were  telling  me  about  an 
old  settler  who  was  depressed  on  account  of  the 
hard    times.       Everything    went    wrong;    this 
honest  farmer  remarked,  in  tones  of  the  deepest 
dejection,  "The  big  crops  don't  do  us  a  bit  of 
good.      What's   the   use?      Corn    only    thirty 
cents.     Everybody   and   everything's  dead   set 
agin  the  farmer.     Only  thirty  cents  for  corn! 
Why,  by  gum,  it  won't  pay  our  taxes,  let  alone 
buy  us  clothes.     It  won't  buy  us  enough  salt 
to  put  up  a  barrel  of  pork.     Corn  only  thirty 
cents'.      By   jocks,    its    a   livin\    cold-blooded 
swindle  on  the  farmer,  that's  what  it  is.    It  ain't 
worth  raisin'  corn  for  such  a  price  as  that.     It's 
a  mean,  low  robbery."     Within  the  next  ten 
days  that  man  had  sold  so  much  more  of  his 
corn   than  he  had  intended,  that  he  found  he 
had   to  buy  corn  to  feed  through  the   winter 
with.      The  price  nearly  knocked  him  down. 
'•  What :  1 1 "  he  yelled,  ''  thirty  cents  for  corn  '! 
Land  i\\\\Q— thirty  cents  !    What  are  you  givin* 
us?     Why,  I  don't  want  to  buy  your  farm,  I 
only  want  some  corn  I     Thirty  cents  for  corn  ! 
Why,  I  believe  there's  nobody  left  in  this  world 
but  a  set  of  graspin',  blood-suckin'  old  misers. 


AGKICrLTURAL   AFFLICTIOXS.  261 

Why,  good  land,  yon  don't  want  to  be  able  to 
buy  a  national  bank  with  one  corn  crop  I  Thirty 
cents  for  corn!  Well,  Fll  let  my  cattle  an' 
horses  run  on  corn  stalks  all  winter  before  I'll 
pay  any  such  an  unheard-of  outrageous  price 
for  corn  as  that.  Why,  the  country's  flooded 
with  corn,  and  thirty  cents  a  bushel  is  a  blamed 
robber}^,  an'  I  don't  see  how  any  man,  lookin' 
at  the  crop  we've  had,  can  have  the  face  to  ask 
such  a  price." 

But  here  is  where,  to  my  way  of  thinking, 
the  gazelle  comes  in  for  the  farmer. 

It  is  spring,  and  the  annual  warfare  begins. 
Early  in  the  morning  the  jocund  farmer  liies 
him  to  the  field,  and  hunts  around  in  the  dead 
weeds  and  grass  for  the  plow  he  left  out 
there  somewhere  sometime  last  fall.  AVhen  he 
finds  it,  he  takes  it  to  the  shop  to  have  it 
mended.  When  it  is  mended,  he  goes  back 
into  the  field  with  it.  Half  way  down  the  first 
furrow  he  lays,  he  runs  the  plow  fairly  into  a 
big  live-oak  root.  The  handles  alternately 
break  a  rib  on  this  side  of  him  and  jab  the 
breath  out  of  him  on  the  other,  and  the  sturdy 
root,  looking  up  out  of  the  ground  with  a 
l)leased  smile  of  recognition,  says  cheerfully  : 


262  AGEICULTUKAL   AFFLICTIONS. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Thistlepod,  at  it  again,  eh?" 
I  Fifty  feet  farther  on  he  strikes  a  stone  that 
doubles  up  the  plow  point  like  a  inece  of  lead, 
and  while  the  amazed  and  breathless  agricul- 
turist leans,  a  limp  heap  of  liumanity,  across 
the  plow,  the  relic  of  the  glacial  period  re- 
marks, sleepily  : 

"Ah  ha;  si)ring  here  already?  Glad  you 
woke  me  up." 

And  then  the  granger  sits  down  and 
patiently  tries  to  tie  on  that  plow-point  with  a 
hickory  wiihe,  and  while  lie  i)ursues  this  fruit- 
less task,  the  friendly  crow  swoops  down,  near 
enough  to  ask  : 

"  Goin'  to  put  this  twenty  in  corn  this  year, 
Mr.  Thistlepod?" 

And  before  he  has  time  to  answer  the  sable 
bird,  a  tiny  grasshopper,  wriggling  out  of  a 
clod  so  full  of  eggs  that  they  can't  be  counted, 
shouts  briskly : 

"Here  we  are  again,  Mr.  Thistlepod  ;  dinner 
for  500,000,000,000. 

And  then  a  slow-moving,  but  very  positive 
potato-bug  crawls  out  into  the  sunlight  to  see 
if  the  frost  has  faded  his  stripes,  and  says  : 

"The  old-fashioned  peachblow  potatoes  are 


AGRICULTURAL    AFFLICTIOXS.  263 

the  best   for  a  sure   crop,  but  the  early  rose 
f  should  be  planted  for  the  first  market." 

Then  several  new  kinds  of  bugs  who  haven't 
made  any  record  yet,  climb  over  the  fence  and 
come  up  to  inquire  about  the  staple  cro^DS  of 
the  neighborhood,  and  before  he  can  get 
through  with  them  Professor  Tice  sends  him  a 
circular  stating  that  there  won't  be  a  drop  of 
rain  from  the  middle  of  May  till  the  last  of 
Oc!"ober.  This  almost  stuns  him,  but  he  is 
beginning  to  feel  a  little  resigned  when  a  dis- 
patch is  received  from  the  dej^artment  of  agri- 
culture at  AVashington,  saying  that  all  indica- 
tions point  to  a  summer  of  unprecedented, 
almost  incessant  and  long-continued  rains  and 
floods,  and  advising  him  to  plant  no  root  crops 
at  all.  While  he  is  trying  to  find  words  in 
which  to  express  his  emotion,  a  neighbor  drops 
in  to  tell  him  that  all  the  peach  trees  in  the 
country  are  winter  killed,  and  that  the  hog 
cholera  is  raging  fiercely  in  the  northern  part 
of  the  township.  Then  his  wife  comes  out  to 
tell  him  the  dog  has  fallen  into  the  well,  and 
when  the  poor  man  gets  to  the  door-yard,  his 
children,  with  much  shouting  and  excitement, 
meet  him  and  tell  him  there  are  a  couple  of 


264 


AGRICULTURAL   AFFLICTIONS. 


cats,  of  the  pole  denomination,  in  the  spring 
honse,  and  another  one  under  the  barn.  With 
tears  and  groans  he  returns  to  the  field,  but  by 
that  time  it  has  begun  to  snow  so  hard  he  can't 

see  the  horses  when 
he  stands  at  the 
plow.  He  is  dis- 
couraged and  starts 
for  the  house  with 
his  team,  when  he 
meets  a  man  who 
bounces  him  for 
using  a  three-horse 
clevis  he  made  him- 
self, and  wrings  ten 
reluctant  dollars  out 
of  him  for  it.  When 
he  reaches  the 
house  the  drive-well 
man  is  waiting  for 
him,  and  while  he 
is  settling  with  him 
a  clock  peddler  comes  in,  and  a  lightning-rod 
man,  screened  by  the  storm,  climbs  up  on  the 
ten-dollar  smoke  house,  and  fastens  8G5  worth 
of  lightning-rods   on  it,  and   before    the    poor 


A  WELL  PROTECTED  :;MOKE  HOUSE. 


A   BLIGHTED    CENSUS   TAKER.  265 

farmer  can  get  his  gun  half  loaded,  the  bailiff 
comes  in  to  tell  him  that  he  has  been  drawn  on 
the  jury. 

No,  I  would  not,  even  if  I  could,  be  a  farmer. 

The  life  is  pleasant  and  independent,  but  it 
seems  to  have  its  drawbacks. 

If  I  were  a  farmer  I  would  grumble  all  I 
wanted,  and  thump  the  man  who  found  fault 
with  me  for  it. 


A  BLIGHTED   CENSUS   TAKER. 

''What  does  your  husband  do?''  asked 
the  census  man.  ''He  ain't  doin'  nothing  at 
this  time  of  the  year,"  replied  the  young  wife. 
"  Is  he  a  pauper  V'  asked  the  census  man.  She 
blushed  scarlet  to  the  ears.  "Law,  no'.''  she 
exclaimed,  somewhat  indignantly.  "We  ain't 
been  married  more'n  two  weeks."  Then  the 
census  man  threw  down  his  book  and  rushed 
out  into  the  depths  of  the  gloomy  forest,  and 
caught  hold  of  a  white  oak  tree  three  feet 
through  to  hold  himself  up  by. 


266  POKING    FUN   AT  THE    NATIVE.  ( 


POKING  FUN  AT  THE  NATIVE. 

The  Sioux  City  and  Pacific  train  stopped  at 
Onawa  the  other  day  and  the  smart  man  on  the 
train  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  shouted  to 
a  native,  "What  is  the  name  of  this  town  f 
"Onawa,"  replied  the  native.  "On  a  what?'' 
queried  the  smart  man.  Patiently  the  native 
repeated  the  name  of  the  hamlet.  "Do  you 
want  to  sell  it  V  asked  the  smart  man.  The 
patient  native  "didn't  know;  'lowed  mebbe 
they'd  sell  if  anybody  wanted  to  buy  it  bad 
enough."  "I'll  give  you  twenty-eight  cents 
for  it,"  bid  the  smart  man.  The  native  turned 
his  head  thoughtfully  on  one  side  and  consid- 
ered the  proposition  in  silence.  Finally  he 
raised  his  head  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
about  made  up  his  mind  to  trade  :  "  An'  throw 
yourself  in  f  he  asked.  The  window  came 
down  with  a  slam,  and  as  the  train  pulled  out, 
there  was  laughter  in  the  car,  but  the  smart 
man  couldn't  tell  whether  it  was  meant  for  him- 
self or  the  native,  although  he  was  inclined  to 
think  it  was. 


ANSWERS   TO    CORKESPOXDEXTS.  267 


ANSWERS  TO  CORRESPOXDENTS. 

Aberdeen-,  May  3.— Who  was  the  author  of 
the  ''  Waverley  Novels  T' 

COXGLOCKETTY  AXGUS  McPhIRSON  McClAN. 

A  man  named  Tom  Donovan  ;  lives  down 
here  in  Bogus  Hollow  and  drives  a  dray.  AVhat 
do  you  want  to  know  for? 

Boston,  Mass.— Can  you  tell  me  whether 
Connecticut  has  now  two  capitals,  as  formerly, 
or  only  one  ?  Statesman. 

It  has  live.  Have  you  no  spelling-book, 
that  you  had  to  send  clear  out  here  to  learn 
what  every  schoolboy  in  Iowa  could  tell  you  ? 

Marion,  Iowa.— Who  wrote  the  poem  called 
"  Thanatopsis,"  beginning,  "To  him,  who  in 
the  love  of  nature''?  Asa. 

We  did,  but  you  need  not  go  and  tell  every- 
body about  it. 

Peoria,  111.— Is  it  true  that  a  cat  has  nine 
lives?  Thomas. 

It  is,  it  is.  Some  of  them  have  eleven.  In 
the  year  1853,  during  the  reign  of  King  IX., 
there  was  a  cat  at  Medford-upon-Rum  that  had 


268  ArSWERS   TO   CORRESPONDENTS. 

fourteen  lives,  and  after  being  beheaded  the 
fifteenth  time,  got  up,  picked  up  her  head  in 
her  mouth  and  ran  away,  and  is  supposed  to  be  i 
alive  to  this  day.  And  we  think  this  same  cat 
is  the  one  owned  and  maintained  by  a  neighbor 
of  ours. 

Appleton,  Wis. — Was  William  Tell,  as  is 
claimed  by  some  folks,  really  a  fabulous,  or 
mythological  character  ?  History. 

No,  he  was  not.  He  was  a  real  man  ;  had 
just  as  actual  an  existence  as  Washington  or 
Grant.  If  you  don't  believe  it,  come  down 
here,  and  we  can  prove  it  to  your  perfect  satis- 
faction. We  can  show  you  a  book  with  a  pic- 
ture of  William  Tell  shooting  an  apple  from  his 
son's  head,  and  Tell,  the  apple  and  his  son  are 
all  there. 

Ann  Arbor,  Mich. — Can  you  tell  me  why  it 
is  warmer  in  summer  than  it  is  in  the  winter  ? 

L  C.  S. 

It  isn't.  Who  put  that  nonsense  into  your 
head  ?  If  the  Ann  Arbor  schools  can't  do  bet- 
ter than  to  teach  people  that  it  is  warmer  in  the 
summer  than  it  is  in  the  winter,  they  had  better 
sell  out.  Where  did  you  get  such  an  idea, 
anyhow  ? 


ANSWERS  TO    CORRESPOXDEXTS.  269 

Denver,  Colorado. — (1)  Where  is  the  Yosem- 
ite  Valley,  aud  [2)  what  route  do  I  take  to  gefc 
there  ?  Traveler. 

1.  There  is  no  such  a  place.  It  used  to  be 
located  about  three  miles  below  St.  Joseph, 
Missouri,  on  the  Kansas  bank  of  the  Mississippi 
river,  but  about  two  years  ago  it  was  washed 
away  by  a  freshet  and  has  never  been  seen  or 
heard  of  since. 

2.  We  don't  know,  and  what's  more,  we 
don't  care,  a  red-handed,  continental,  star- 
strijped  Ro3'al  Bengal  American  nickel. 

Mishwauka,  June  2. — Is  it  right  for  a  tem- 
perance man  to  drink  whisky  ? 

Eeformer. 

Well,  no  ;  it  is  hardly  right ;  hardly  right ; 
unless,  he  likes  it.  That  makes  a  difference, 
and  even  then  it  is  hardly  the  thing  for  him  to 
do.     Unless  he  likes  it  very  much  indeed. 

Kewark,  X.  J. — How  many  body  servants 
did  George  Washington  have  ?  Patriot. 

He  had  five  last  summer,  but  this  season  he 
has  only  three,  the  two  who  traveled  with  Mr. 
Barnum's  show  last  year  being  now  engaged 
for  the  gorilla  and  the  wild  boy   of  Borneo, 


270  ANSWEES   TO   CORRESPONDENTS. 

until  July  1,  when  the  gorilla  will  be  with- 
drawn and  Joice  Heth  substituted,  on  account 
of  the  heat. 

Ann  Arbor,  Mich. — How  many  bones  are 
there  in  the  human  body,  at  maturity? 

Student. 

It  depends  on  the  size  of  the  man.  Xow,  in 
a  shad  weighing  one  pound,  there  are  2,6*25  well 
defined  bones.  A  man  weighing  one  hundred 
and  forty  pounds,  therefore,  would  have  in  his 
body  one  hundred  and  forty  times  as  many  as  a 
one  pound  shad,  or  936,8.5*2.023  bones.  Given 
the  weight  of  the  man,  it  will  always  be  per- 
fectly easy  for  you,  by  this  method,  to  ascer- 
tain the  number  of  bones  in  his  body. 

Chicago. — Who  is  the  wealthiest  man  in  the 
United  States,  outside  of  New  York  State  and 
the  great  mining  States  ?  Banker. 

We  are.  But  we  are  not  lending  a  dollar 
to  anybody,  for  anything.     You  understand  I 

Boston. — Who  was  the  author  of  the 
*' Junius  letters,"'  do  you  think? 

Politician. 

Junius,  you  donkey  ;  Junius. 


ANSWERS   TO   CORRESPOXDEXTS.  271 

Warrensburg,  Mo.— When  is  the  thiie  to 
travel  ? 

When  you  hear  her  father's  foot  on  the  third 
step,  young  man,  is  about  as  good  a  time  as  any, 
to  start,  and  you  can  prolong  the  tour  to  suic 
your  own  convenience  and  the  length  of  the  old 
man's  cane.  From  the  innocence  with  which 
you  ask  the  question,  we  suppose  you  didn't 
travel  until  he  was  clear  into  the  i^arlor. 
Served  you  right. 

Cohasset,  Mass.— Why  do  not  the  lower 
animals  speak  ? 

We  never  gave  the  subject  very  close 
thought,  but  we  suppose  it  is  to  avoid  being 
called  on  to  make  addresses  of  welcome  and 
after-dinner  speeches. 

Cleveland,  0.— Mr.  Editor,  can  you  tell 
me  what  was  the  peculiar  and  specific  charm  in 
the  intonation  of  the  great  actor,  who,  it  is  said, 
could  make  an  audience  weep,  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  could  pronounce  Mesopotamia  I 

Ethel. 

We  do  not  know  just  what  was  the  trouble 
with  him,  Ethel,  and  we  have  always  been 
rather  inclined  to  think  it  Avas  a  campaign 
story,  got  up  for  political  effect ;  but  it  may  be 


272       THE  TROUBLE  WITH  MOODY. 

true,  for  we  have  seen  men  so  drunk  tliat  it 
7  made  tbem  weep  and  howl  like  demons  to  say 
*' individual  aggregations,"  and  we  don't  be- 
lieve money  could  have  hired  them  to  say 
''Mesopotamia." 


THE    TROUBLE    WITH    MOODY. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman 
who  has  just  billed  Burlington  for  a  lecture  on 
"The  Frauds  of  the  Bible,"  closing  an  ani- 
mated theological  discussion  in  a  Main  street 
bar-room;  "oh,  pshaw;  they  ain't  no  sense 
talking  that  way  about  him.  I'm  willin'  to 
give  Moody  credit  for  all  the  good  points  he's 
got.  He's  a  earnest  enough  man  ;  b'lieves  what 
he  says,  honest  enough  in  his  oi:)inions,  I 
reckon  ;  but,  dog-gone  it,  the  man's  coarse  ;  he 
ain't  got  no  kulcher."  And  the  discussion  was 
closed. 


BEEGHIZING   A    CAT.  273 


BERGHIZIXG  A  CAT. 

When  you  feel  that  you  have  got  to  kill  a 
cat,  when  you  must  kill  a  cat  or  suffer  night  after 
night  from  the  pangs  of  a  reproving  conscience, 
this  is  the  way  Our  Dumb  Animals  says  you 
must  kill  it,  the  cat,  not  your  conscience  : 

'•Place  the  cat  in  a  box  large  enough  to 
turn  round  in  and  not  feel  stifled.  Then,  for  a 
grown  cat,  put  two  table-spoonsful  of  best  chlo- 
roform on  a  handful  of  cotton  batting.  Put  in 
the  cat  first,  shutting  the  lid  of  the  trunk,  then 
open  the  lid  wide  enough  to  slip  in  the  chloro- 
formed cotton,  and  immediately  close  it." 

Now,  could  anything  be  more  considerate  or 
humane  ?  Be  sure  and  have  the  box  large  and 
well  ventilated,  so  that  the  doomed  cat  **  will 
not  feel  stifled."  Nothing  is  more  annoying  to 
a  chloroformed  cat  than  a  close,  stifling  atmos- 
phere. Cats  have  been  known  to  die  from  the 
effects  of  chloroform  administered  to  them  in  a 
,  tight,  stifling  box.  The  best  box  for  the  pur- 
pose should  have  a  bay  window  in  each  end, 
and  should  be  ventilated  by  the  Ruttan  system, 
and  there  should  be  a  large  hole  cut  in  the  side 
18 


274 


THE   PIIOXOGRAPn. 


of  the  box  so  that  the  cat  could  come  out  aud 
get  something  to  eat  and  drink  when  necessary. 

Then  you  should 
-^^^ — ■  have    the    chloro- 

form carefully  de- 
odorized so  as  to 
remove  any  un- 
pleasant or  nox- 
ious flavor,  and  it 
should  be  dropped 
on  a  bit  of  perfumed  cotton  and  laid  away  in 
one  corner  of  the  box,  within  easy  reach,  where 
the  cat  could  go  and  smell  it  when  it  felt  like  it. 
In  the  course  of  some  ten  or  twelve  years  the 
cat  will  pass  gently  away.  Our  Dumb  Ani- 
mals is  a  very  excellent  journal,  but  it  has  some 
dumb  queer  notions  about  cat  killing. 


AN    EA6Y    DEATH. 


The  phonograph  will  register  thirty- two 
thousand  vibrations  a  second.  And  then  it 
can't  half  keep  up  with  a  man  who  is  trying  to 
tell  how  he  did  and  what  he  said  when  the  pas- 
sengers saw  that  the  train  was  going  to  plunge 
through  the  open  draw-bridge. 


A   REMARKABLE   CURE.  275 


A  REMARKABLE  CURE. 

"For  many,  many  years,"  said  the  man 
witli  the  bad  eye,  "I  was  troubled,  annoyed, 
positively  afflicted  with  a  raging,  burning  thirst 
for  strong  drink,  and  alcoholic  beverages.  I 
sought  for  relief  in  every  way.  I  sought  the 
advice  of  physicians  and  the  counsels  of  friends. 
I  tried  various  cures  recommended  by  the  news- 
papers, but  none  of  them  seemed  to  do  me  any 
good." 

"And  by  what  means,"  asked  the  clergyman 
in  the  tall  hat,  "did  you  at  length  succeed  in 
allaying  this  terrible  thirst  ?" 

"Well,"  said  the  man  with  the  bad  eye, 
after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  I  found  that  Old 
Crow  whisky,  as  a  steady  thing,  kind  of 
softened  it  down  and  quieted  it  about  as  much 
as  anything  I  tried.  When  I  found  the  thirst 
and  the  burning  desire  for  a  drink  coming  on,  I 
would  go  and  take  about  three  fingers  of  Old 
Crow  and  the  thirst  would  pass  away,  and " 


276 


CATCniXG   THE   IIOKSE-CAK. 


CATCHING    THE    HORSE-CAR. 


*'  Stop  that  car  !"  cried  old  Mr.  IN'osengale, 
chasing  a  flying  car  up  Division  street,  the  car 
fresh  as  a  daisy  and  Mr.  Nosengale  badly 
blown,  and  the  distance  pole  not  a  minute  away. 
''  Stop  that  car  !"  he  shouted,  to  a  distant  bnt 
fleet-limbed  boy.  "  Certainly,^'  shrieked  back 
the  obliging  boy,  ''what  shall  I 
stop  it  with  V  "Tell  it  to  hold 
on,''  shouted  the  abandoned  pas- 
senger. "Hold  on  to  what  f ' 
yelled  the  boy.  "  Make  it  wait 
for  me  I"  puffed  Mr.  Nosengale. 


You^ 


got   too  much 


wei":ht 


that's 


ve 
now,"  said  the  boy, 
what's  the  trouble  with  you." 
"Call  the  driver!"  gasped  the 
perspiring  citizen,  and  as  the  car  rounded  the 
corner  and  passed  out  of  sight,  the  mocking 
echoes  of  the  obliging  answer  came  floating 
softly  back,  "All  right!  What  shall  I  caU 
him  V 


SOMETHING   TO   BOOT.  277 


SOMETHING  TO  BOOT. 

"Did  you  trade  Yoiir  brown  mare  for  Gil- 
deroy's  gray  horse  even,  Mr.  Pillicoddy  ?" 
the  neighbor's  son  asked  him  the  other  evening, 
as  they  were  looking  at  the  new  horse  down  in 
the  stable  yard.  "N-no,"  replied  the  old  man 
listlessly,  "no,"  and  then,  with  an  air  of  in- 
terest, as  he  looked  up  and  saw  a  young  man 
in  a  little  straw  hat,  a  new  summer  suit,  a 
button-hole  bouquet  and  a  cane  cross  the  yard 
and  drop  easily  into  a  rocking  chair  on  the 
porch,  within  easy  reach  of  Miss  Pillicoddy's 
sewing-chair,  "No,"  said  the  old  man,  kind  of 
pulling  his  hat  on  a  little  tighter,  "no,  Tve 
got  something  to  boot,"  and  before  the  bloom- 
ing chemb  could  button  up  his  seven  by  nine 
ears,  he  was  ricocheting  across  the  pasture  fence 
and  seated  on  a  moist  warm  spot.  ' '  How  fresh  I" 
murmured  the  old  man,  as  he  trundled  the  sew- 
insr-chair  into  the  house,  and  locked  and  bolted 
the  front  door  after  him. 


278  A   DIRE   CATASTEOPHE. 


A  DIRE   CATASTROPHE. 

A  MAX  came  into  tlie  office  the  other  day 
and  said  that  "  Yuletidewas  coming  on  apace." 
We  were  equal  to  the  emergency,  and  after  a 
little  maneuvering  got  him  seated  in  the  patent 
''Middlerib  AVelcome''  and  shot  him  out  of 
the  alley  window  and  through  a  brick  wall 
twenty-eight  inches  thick.  And  it  wasn't  until 
the  inquest  came  on  that  we  thought  to  look 
into  the  Enryclopadia,  when  we 
were  amazed  to  learn  that  Yule- 
tide  meant  Christmas.  Alas, 
alas,  how  often  we  cause  pain  and 
give  offense  by  our  thoughtless- 
ness!    Just  for  the  lack  of  a  lit- 

A  HASTY  ACTION.        .-,  ,-         .     '  ^«         .•  i 

tie  patient  investigation  we  have 


knocked  a  hole  in  our  neighbor's  wall  that  will 
cost  $0.75  to  repair,  and  that  man's  widow  is  so 
offended  that  we  don't  suppose  she  will  ever 
speak  to  us  again.  Ah,  dear,  we  must  learn  to 
be  more  patient ;  in  our  blind  slavery  to  an  un- 
governable temper,  we  fear  we  may  hurt  some- 
body yet. 


A.   TRIBUTE   TO    '' CULCUAW."  279 


A  TRIBUTE   TO  '^CULCHAW." 

DcRixG  the  recent  convention  of  governors, 
the  governor  of  North  Carolina  rose  to  make 
his  usual  remark,  but  observing  that  the  gover- 
nor of  Massachusetts  was  present,  he  so  far 
amended  the  original  resolution  as  to  say  to  the 
governor  of  South  Carolina  that  '*  the  leaden 
hours  on  slow,  unfolding  wings  had  dragged 
their  weary  lengths  in  mock  eternities  nigh  half- 
way round  the  tiresome  dial-plate,  since  last 
they  bent  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  elbow,  and 
touched  with  earthly  nectar  rare,  from  old  Ken- 
tucky's copper-bottomed  stills,  their  parched 
lips,  to  cool  with  gurgling  dewiness  the  dry  and 
whistling  throat." 


Did  you  ever  notice  that  the  raggeder  and 
frayeder  the  neck-band  of  your  shirt  grew,  the 
more  starch  the  washerwoman  put  into  it,  and 
the  harder  and  glossier  she  ironed  it  ?  (And 
the  higher  you  carried  your  head  the  more  you 
fidgeted  i) 


280  EULES    OF   CONDUCT. 


RULES  OF  CONDUCT. 

Never  exaggerate,  at  least,  don't  exaggerate 
so  excessively  as  to  cause  undue  remark. 

Never  laugh  at  the  misfortunes  of  others, 
save  in  the  isolated  instance  of  a  man  struggling 
between  heaven  and  earth,  with  only  the  blue 
dome  of  the  sky  above  him,  and  nothing  to 
sjjeak  of  under  him,  except  a  banana  peel. 

Never  send  a  present,  hoping  for  one  in 
return.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  you  will  slip  up 
on  your  expectations.  Freeze  to  the  present 
you  buy.     You  are  dead  sure  of  that. 

Never  question  your  neighbors'  servants  or 
children  about  family  matters.  They  ai'e  liable 
to  fib  to  you.  The  best  way  is  to  ''snook" 
around  and  find  out  for  yourself. 

Always  offer  the  easiest  seat  in  the  room  to 
a  lady  or  an  invalid.  A  hard  bottom,  straight- 
back  chair  is  usually  considered  about  the 
easiest  thing  there  is  made  to  sit  on.  A  rock- 
ing chair  is  apt  to  produce  sea-sickness. 

Never  pass  between  two  passengers  who  are 
talking  together,  without  offering  an  apology. 
One  of  them  may  lift  you  a  kick  that  will  raise 
you  through  the  pier  glass. 


EULES   OF    CONDUCT. 


281 


Never  put  a  fire  or  warm,  dry  sheets  in  tlie 
spare  room.  It's  too  awfully  invitiug,  and  these 
are  hard  times. 

Never  insult  an  acquaintance  by  harsh 
words  when  applied  to  for  a  favor.  It  is  just  as 
easy  and  ever  so  much  pleasanter,  to  lie  to  him 
and  tell  him  you  haven  t  got  it.  He  may  know 
you  are  a  liar,  but  he  can't  deny  that  you  are  a 
gentleman. 

Never  fail  to  answer  an  invitation,  either 
personally  or  by  letter.  If  it  is  an  invitation  to 
dinner,  by  all  means  answer  it 
personally.  If  it  is  an  invitation 
to  a  wedding  or  donation  party, 
a  letter  will  do  just  as  well,  and 
is  about  ten  times  as  (;heap. 

If  you  lounge  down  into  a 
rocking-chair  and  tilt  back  across 
the  toes  of  a  man  in  a  neat  fit- 
ting boot,  don't  ask  him  if  he  is 
hurt,  or  say  anything  else  cal- 
culated to  make  him  speak,  just 
let  him  stand  up  and  smile  for  a 
few  moments  till  he  gets  his  voice  under  control. 
Society  is  used  to  the  ghastly  smile  of  a  man 
with  tight  boots,  and  doesn't  mind  it,  but  the 


A     PLEASI^-G 
SMILE. 


282  SOUND    AND   SENSE. 

quavering  tones  of  an  anguish-stricken  voire 
are  always  calculated  to  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
entire  community. 


SOUND  AND  SENSE. 

*'Mr.  Pakafine,"  exclaimed  an  indignant 
woman,  dashing  into  a  West  llill  grocery,  "I 
don't  like  that  sugar  you  sent  me  last  week  at 
all.     It  wasn't  lit  to  use." 

^'Not  fit  to  use  I"  asked  the  astonished 
grocer,  "why,  what  was  the  matter  with  it  ?" 

"Matter  enough,"  said  the  woman;  "it 
looked  nice  enough,  but  it  was  as  gritty  as 
gravel." 

"Oh,  yes,"  responded  the  grocer,  "oh,  yes, 
I  know  now\  It  was  a  new  brand,  that  was 
'anded  in  for  our  customers  to  try.  Oh,  yes,  I 
know.  I'll  give  you  something  better  thjfe 
week." 

And  the  woman  looked  him  right  in  the  eye, 
but  he  never  quailed,  and  she  didn't  know  just 
whether  she  heard  him  right,  or  whether  he 
meant  just  what  she  thought  he  said,  or  not. 


EO:.IAXCE    AND    REALITY. 


283 


ro:maxce  axd  eeality. 

A  PARxr  of  serenaders  halted  on  Boundary 
street  the  other  night,  touched  the  light  guitar, 
and  struck  up.  with  great  feeling,  ''  Come 
where  my  love  lies  dreaming."  and  then  a  great 


BUSH-HEADED    BRUTALITY. 


bush-headed  x^Tetch,  forty-eight  years  old, 
with  a  beard  like  a  thicket,  leaned  out  of  the 
window  and  said,  in  a  load,  coarse,  unfeeling 

manner,  ''Young  gentlemen,  you  mistake,  she 


284  THE   APwT   OF   DRESSING. 

isn't  dreaming.  Far  from  her  be  it  to  dream, 
or  even  sleep.  She's  sitting  on  the  back  porch, 
with  her  feet  in  a  tub  of  cistern  water,  drinking 
iced  lemonade  and  lighting  musquitoes  with  a 
palm- leaf  fan,  and  she  isn't  dressed  for  com- 
pany. Sing  something  true."  But  long  ere  he 
ceased  to  speak,  the  summer  night  was  still,  the 
front  yard  was  empty,  and  the  voice  of  the 
passel  tree  and  harp  no  more  awoke  the  night 
in  melody. 


THE*  ART    OF    DllESSIXG. 


A  New  York  "modiste"  has  written  a 
pamphlet  on  the  "Art  of  Dressing."  That 
isn't  the  book  the  times  demand.  What  the 
young  men  who  come  home  at  2:15  a.  m.  want 
is  lucid  instructions  in  the  art  of  undressing. 
And  if  such  a  work  could  be  supplemented 
with  a  few  hints  on  practical  methods  of  dis- 
tinguishing the  foot  of  the  bed  from  the  end 
where  the  pillows  are,  it  would  have  an  im- 
mense sale. 


CLi:\rATE   OF   PERU— SLAVE   OF   HABIT.      285 


THE   CLIMATE    OF    PERU. 

It  never  rains  in  Peru,  and  a  man  in  that 
rainless  climate  never  knows  what  it  is  to  get 
up  Sunday  morning  and  spend  five  hours 
pumping  out  his  cellar,  when  he  is  just  wild  to 
go  to  church.  But  to  atone  for  the  loss  of  this 
pleasant  pastime,  ho  has  to  stand  up  about  four 
times  a  week  and  let  a  raging  earthquake  kick 
him  clear  across  the  county  line  in  one  time  and 
two  motions. 


THE    SLAVE    OF   HABIT. 

*'BoYS,"  said  the  man,  holding  an  inverted 
match  in  one  hand,  and  a  dark  cigar  in  the 
other,  "never  acquire  the  pernicious  habit  of 
smoking.  I  am  a  slave  to  it  now,  and  yet  I 
hate  it.  I  never  see  a  cigar  that  I  do  not  want 
to  burn  it  up."  And  then,  with  extreme  satis- 
faction, he  burned  up  the  one  he  had  in  his 
hand. 


2S0  WHY  IS  IT?— didn't  know  it  was  loaded. 


WHY    IS    IT? 

We  don't  uiKlerstancl  why  it  is  that  aeon- 
stable  with  a  search-warrant,  looking  forwhisky 
in  a  temperance  town,  can  search  for  five  days 
and  never  get  a  smell,  while  a  dry  and  thirsty 
man  in  the  same  town  steps  ont  of  his  office, 
walks  briskly  away,  and  in  three  minutes  is 
seen  emerging  from  an  adjacent  alley,  wiping 
his  perspiring  mouth  with  his  cuffs. 


DIDX'T  KXOW  IT  WAS  LOADED. 

A  West  Hill  man  sat  up  one  night  till  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  throwing  poker  dice 
with  a  fellow  from  Nebraska  City,  and  then, 
when  they  rose  to  go,  and  the  West  Hiller  felt 
that  all  that  he  had  was  the  man's,  he  smiled 
sadly,  and  in  low,  sweet  tones,  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger,  remarked  that  "he  didn  t  know 
they  were  loaded." 


THE    SXOW-BALL    MYSTEKY.  287 


THE  SXOW-BALL  MYSTERY. 

^nViiex  a  snow-ball  as  hard  as  a  door-knob 
liics  you  in  the  back  of  the  head  as  you  are 
crossing  the  street,  no  matter  how  quickly  you 
turn,  the  only  thing  yoa 
can  see  is  one  boy,  with 
the  most  innocent  face 
and  the  emptiest  hands 
that  ever  confronted  a 
false  accusation. 

It  is  often  remarked 
tliat  '-the  boy  is  father 
to  tlie  man."  This  may 
be  true,  but  we  know  that 
after  the  snow-ball  has 
knocked    off    the    man  s 

hat,  it  is  father  to  the  boy  than  it  is  to  the  next 
corner,  by  a  long  sight,  and  the  man  will  find 
it  out  if  he  is  foolish  enough  to  chase  the 
bov. 


A  Germ  AX  dentist  has  invented  paper  teeth. 
'Tischew  paper,  probably. 


288      nEAVEN   AND   EARTH— FREE   COUXTRY. 

HEAVEN  AXD   EARTH. 

''  Oir,  heaven  and  earth  are  far  apart,"  says 
the  poet.  They  are,  they  are  ;  and  it  is  just  as 
well  that  it  is  so.  If  they  were  very  close 
together,  the  cabinet-organ  dealers  would  be 
buzzing  the  poor,  harassed,  distracted  angels 
eighteen  hours  a  day,  and  the  advertising 
agents  would  talk  them  blind  the  rest  of  the 
time. 


ADVANTAGES  OF  A  FREE  COUNTRY. 

It  is  going  to  cost  England  $10,000,000  to 
kill  ten  or  a  dozen  Zulus.  It  costs  more  to  kill 
a  Zulu  than  it  does  an  Indian.  Our  govern- 
ment never  pays  more  than  §200,000  for  killing 
an  Indian ;  and  a  white  man— well,  in  this 
country  you  can  kill  a  white  man  for  almost 
anything  you  are  able  to  pay  a  lawyer. 


"When  shall  we  eat  ?''  asks  a  medical  jour- 
nal. Same  as  you  drink,  doctor,  same  as  you 
drink  :  everj-  time  anybody  asks  you  to. 


EEASOX   Vv'lIY — TWO   BUOXnERS.  289 


THE  REASON    WHY. 

E.  C.  Sted:\iax  sings,  in  Scrihner,  ^' Why 
should  I  fear  to  sip  The  sweets  of  each  red  lip  f 
Why  ?  Because,  Mr.  Stedman,  you  have  a  coq- 
viction  that  the  gloomy-looking  old  gentleman 
in  the  background,  with  blood  in  his  eye  and  a 
cane  like  the  angel  of  death  in  his  hand,  will 
make  a  poultice  of  you  if  you  do  any  such 
sampling  while  he  is  in  reach. 


There  are  two  brothers  on  West  Hill  who 
look  so  much  alike  they  cannot  tell  each  other 
apart,  and  one  day  last  week,  when  John  was 
raging  like  a  volcano  with  the  toothache,  Henry 
went  down  to  the  dentist's  and  had  six  teeth 
pulled. 


"You  could  tell,  by  the  easy  versifica- 
tion," remarked  the  barber,  on  hearing  "The 
Eaven,"    "that  this  was    a    poem    Po-made. 

It's  so  slick." 

19 


290    PnOXOGRAPII  IN  GEKMAX— BAGGY  KNEES. 


THE  PHONOGRAPH,  IN  GERMAN. 

The  name  of  the  phonograph,  in  German, 
is  nnsergehausnekeitigenfernstehanphfteich- 
taunsgespreecher.  When  you  wind  that  up  on 
the  cylinder,  and  leave  it  till  it  gets  cold,  and 
then  grind  it  out,  it  usually  tears  the  machine 
to  pieces  and  strikes  the  house  with  lightning. 


The  man  whose  pantaloons  bag  most  at  the 
knees  isn't  necessarily  the  man  who  prays  the 
most.  Sleeping  in  a  day  coach  with  your  knees 
prox)pcd  up  against  the  seat  in  front  of  you, 
will  wreck  the  knees  of  a  straight  pair  of  pants 
quicker  and  more  successfully  than  two  years 
of  prayer-meetings. 


*'  Her  eyes,"  remarked  the  proof  reader, 
**are  her  strongest  attraction.  They  draw 
your  attention  and  admiration  in  spite  of  your- 
self.'' "  Ah,  yes,"  replied  the  cashier,  "a  kind 
of  a  sight  draft,  as  you  might  say." 


LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

HISTORIC  REMIXISCEXCES  OF  THE  EARLIER  TIME. 

IN  PROSE   AND   VERSE. 


A  DAY  AT  TROY. 

Troy,  Ohio,  March  4. 
"Arma  virunique  cano," 
I  sing  the  first  Trojan,  you  know  ; 
"  Qui  primus  ab  oris," 
Who  mounted  his  Horace,* 

And  settled  down  in  Ohio. 
"With  more  terror  than  joy 
With  his  pa  and  his  boy, 

He  fled,  feeling  dreadful  Uneasy,f 

♦  This  is  considered  one  of  the  most  intricate  and  elabo- 
rate classical  jokes  ever  "penetrated"  upon  an  intelligent 
people.  Send  stamp  for  explanation,  sent  closely  sealed  in 
packages  to  suit  the  purchaser. 

t  Professor  Wortman,  to  whom  I  showed  the  manuscript 
of  this  stanza,  offered  me  two  hundred  dollars  to  print  that 

[291] 


292  KOCTURXE. 

For  just  about  then 
A  horse  load  of  men 

Made  the  climate  unwholcsomcly  Greecey. 
And  his  fond,  loving  wife, 
The  joy  of  his  life, 

He  ran  off  and  left  her  behind, 
For  ^neas,  gay  boy, 
AVas  sure  that  in  Troy, 
Ohio,  new  wives  he  could  find. 


NOCTURNE. 

Had  he  struck  this  new  Troy  just  when  I  did, 

(Oh,  ^Mother,  are  the  doughnuts  done?) 
He'd  thought  with  the  Arctic  zone  he'd  collided, 

And  back  to  the  Greeks  had  turned  and  run. 
For  the  snow  was  deeper  than  the  national  debt, 

And  the  slush  was  running  like  a  river  ; 
And  the  Trojan  hackmen,  you  just  bet. 

Don't  drive,  when  the  weather  makes  them  shiver. 

Old  Troy  don't  look  very  much  as  it  did 

"When  pious  ^neas  ruled  the  roost  ; 
And  I  thought  of  the  many  changing  years  that  slid. 

Since  Vulcan  gave  his  step-son  a  boost. 

word  "  ^aeas-y,"  but  I  refused.     I  didn't  think  it  would  be 
right.     I  have  yet  some  little  conscience  in  these  matters. 


KOCTURXE. 


293 


For  I  wandered  over  Troy,  through  the  slush  afore- 
said, 

And  I  took  an  aged  Trojan  for  a  guide, 
And  every  time  he  opened  his  head 

The  old  man  lied. 


^.^miTH...  CP^S'l^  STi 


I    mused   at    the   trenches 
where    the    Grecian 
warriors  lay. 
And    I  wandered  where 
Hector      fired     the 
ships, 
And   I   strolled  where  the 
"  waster  of     cities  " 
held  sway, 
AVhen    a  Trojan  daren't 
open  his  lips. 
Here  the  great  son  of  Tel- 

amon      nursed      his   achilles'  little  WEAK^'Ess. 
direful  wrath. 
Here  the  mighty  Achilles  sulked  and  swore  ; 
And  there,  riglit  directly  across  the  street, 
Is  John  Smith's  store. 

Then  I  made  certain  inquiries  at  the  hotel, 

And  the  answers  I  got  made  me  mad  ; 
For  I'd  wasted  all  my  classics  on  a  hollow-hearted  sell, 

And  I  felt  it  was  reallv  too  bad. 


294      KECKEATIONS   IN   THEBAX   LITERATURE. 

For  they  told  that  ^neas  never  voted  in  this  town, 
And  that  Hector  never  boarded  here  at  all, 

But  a  man  named  Paris,  they  said,  was  here. 
But  he  moved  last  fall. 


RECREATIOXS    IX    TPIEBAN    LITERA- 
TURE. 

*' Married  people,"  said  Epaminondas,  "can- 
not talk  as  freely  and  rapidly  as  young  people." 

"  I  hadn't  noticed  it,"  said  Pelopidas,  "  and 
I  don't  think  it  is  true." 

"  But  it  is  true,"  replied  the  illustrious  The- 
ban,  "  because " 

"Because  they  are  paired?"  sagely  asked 
bis  friend. 

Epaminondas  shook  his  head. 

"Because  the  two  married  people  are  only 
one,  while  each  of  the  young  j^eople  is  one, 
two?" 

Epaminondas  looked  sad,  and  stifled  a  rising 
sigh. 

Pelopidas  thought  a  moment,  and  said  ; 

"Because  their  two  'heads  have  but  a  single 
thought'  V 


EECREATIOXS   IN   TIIEBAN   LITEUATUKE.      235 

"Oh,  no,"  the  statesman  said,  "it  isn't 
necessary  to  have  even  one  thought  to  do  an 
infinite  amount  of  talking.  Loolv  at  the  Con- 
gressional Record.  IS'o,"  he  continued,  witJi 
an  air  of  interest,  "but  you  know  the  marriage 
service  is  conducted  orally  ?  Verbally  ?  By 
word  of  mouth,  or  tongue,  as  you  may  say,  the 
knot  matrimonial  is  tied  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Pelopidas,  "  I  see,  so  far." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Epaminondas,  w^ith  a 
faint  gleam  of  triumph  on  his  face,  "  the  mar- 
ried folk  do  the  less  talking  because  they  are 
tongue-tied." 

Pelopidas  was  wrapped  in  silent  amazement 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said  it  was  a  j^retty 
good  conundrum,  if  that  was  its  first  aijpearance 
in  the  West,  but  it  reminded  him  of  a  man 
building  a  one-story  house. 

"  IIow's  that  ?"  asked  the  soldier  statesman. 

"  Blamed  sight  more  scaffolding  than  house," 
said  Pelopidas. 

And  then  Epaminondas  set  his  teeth  and 
muttered  that  it  was  a  pity  some  i)eople  were 
born  without  any  apx^reciation  for  anything. 


296  TOO     PAliTICULAR. 

TOO  PARTICULAR. 

*'  Peucestas,"  said  Leonatus,  one  da 3%  when 
the  all-conquering  army  of  Alexander  was  on  its 
march  to  Malli,  ''Peucestas,  why  is  the  crup- 
per of  Bucephalus  like  a  ship's  anchor?" 

Peucestas  was  buried  in  deep  thought  for  a 
moment;  "Because  it  has  no  pocket  to  put  it 
inf  he  ventured  timidly. 

''Naw  !"  roared  the  son  of  Pella. 

"Man  behind  the  counter?"  i)ursued  Peu- 
cestas. 

"No!" 

"To  cover  his  head?" 

"  Shades  of  my  fatliers,  no  !" 

"  Because  it's  infirm  ?" 

Leonatus  only  made  a  despairing  gesture. 

"Because  it's  a  slope  up ?" 

Leonatus  made  a  motion  to  strike  him,  and 
Peucestas  said  he  wouldn't  guess  any  more,  and 
he  couldn't  see  why  a  horse's  crupper  was  like 
a  ship' s  anchor. 

"  Well,  it  is,"  replied  Leonatus,  "because 
it's  at  the  end  of  the  hawser." 

"  Which  end  ?''  presently  Peucestas  in- 
quired, with  a  show  of  interest. 


A     GRECIAN    CIRCULAPw. 


297 


And  then  Leonatus  looked  a  long  way  off, 
and  said  that  the  peculiar  appearance  of  the 
clouds  and  the  humidity  of  the  atmosphere 
indicated  considerable  areas  of  disturbances, 
with  a  right  smart  of  mean  temperature  at  local 
points. 


A   GRECIAN   CIRCULAR. 

"Why,"  asked  Ulysses,  as  he  accompanied 
the  swift-footed  Achilles  on  his  diurnal  family 
marketing  tour,  "  Why  do  you  call  your 
butcher  Ixion  V^ 

The  son  of  Pe- 
leus  looked  atten- 
tively at  the  Hesh- 
er  slicing  off  cut- 
lets, to  see  that 
he  didn't  get  in 
three  times  as 
much  bone  as  calf, 
and  then  rei)lied  : 

"  Because  he's 
the  man  at  the 
veal." 

The  waster  of  cities    sighed    heavily,    and 


AN   A2>'CIENT    CONCXDKUil. 


298  THE    SKIRMISHING   FUND. 

shaking  his  head  gloomily,  said  he  never  did 
understand  i^oUtics  very  well,  and  so,  without 
coming  to  a  vote,  the  house  adjourned. 


THE  SKIRMISHING  FUND. 

"Yarinus,"  said  Lentulus,  one  day,  just 
before  the  praetor  marched  against  Spartacus, 
*' Varinus,  did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  these 
little  signs  in  the  city  parks,  all  over  the  civil- 
ized world,  'keep  off  the  grass,'  are  instigated 
by  British  intluence  ?" 

The  praetor  couldn'  t  see  why  British  influ- 
ence should  trouble  itself  to  preserve  the  grass 
in  a  United  States  park,  and  he  said  so. 

''Well,''  said  the  consul,  "it  is  so.  It  is 
only  another  exhibition  of  English  hatred 
against  the  Fenians,  to  which  other  powers  are 
thus  induced  to  lend  their  influence.  You  can 
see  no  connection  between  these  signs  and  the 
Fenians  ?" 

"None,"  replied  Yarinus,  "  unless  the  signs 
are  like  the  Fenians,  because  nobody  pays  any 
attention  to  them." 


A   MISS,    BUT   A   GOOD    LINE   SHOT.  209 


*'Not  exactly  that,"  respondit  the  consul, 
cum  some  asperity,  "although  that  isn't  so 
bad." 

Varinus  respondit  non,  sed  intimated,  by 
shaking  his  caput,  ut  he  would  give  it  up. 

"  Well,"  said  the  consul,  with  a  pitying  look 
at  his  comrade,  "it  is  because  these  things  are 
put  up  to  keep  people  from  '  wearing  off  the 
green.'  " 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Varinus  made  any 
reply,  when  he  finally  said  he  hoped,  if  the 
consul  ever  said  anything  like  that  again,  Spar- 
tacus  might  give  him  the  awfullest  Thracian  a 
Roman  ever  got.  And  then  he  called  out  the 
troops  and  went  over  to  Vesuvius,  and  got  one 
himself,  just  to  see  what  it  was  like. 


A  MISS,    BUT  A   GOOD   LI^'E   SHOT. 

"  Iphigexeia,"  her  father  said  one  morning, 

when  the  ships  were  becalmed  at  Aulis,  "  Iphi- 

geneia,  do  you  know  why  President  Hayes  is 

like  Charles  IX.  of  France  f' 

The  daughter  of  Agamemnon,  who  was  work- 


300  A   MISS,    BUT   A   GOOD   LINE   SHOT. 

ing  a  green  worsted  dog  on  a  seal-brown  sofa 
cusliion,  said,  "  Two  greens,  a  pink,  three  yel- 
low and  four  brown,"  and  then  spoke  up  : 

"Because  he  was  a  long  time  reachin'  to  his 
title?" 

"  Hey  ?"  shouted  the  venerable  Calchas,  who 

was  a  little  hard  of  hearing,  "lie}',  what's  that  ?" 

"Because,"    repeated    Iphigeneia,  blushing 

at  her  own  audacity,  "  he  was  a  long  time  regent 

to  his  title?" 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Calchas  shook  his  head 
and  said  this  i)aragraphing  was  too  strong  for 
him,  and  went  away  to  kill  a  goose  for  its  bone, 
and  look  at  the  corn  husks  to  see  how  the  win- 
ter was  going  to  be,  while  the  son  of  Atreus  only 
laughed,  and  told  his  daughter  she  was  a  mile 
away  from  it,  and  Iphigeneia  tried  again. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  lie's  a  kind  of  a  little 
off  Mm?" 

But  Agamemnon  told  her  not  to  get  slangy, 
and  she  gave  it  up. 

"Why  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Because,"  said  her  father,  with  the  happy, 
triumphant  air  of  a  man  whose  conundrum 
comes  back  to  himself  for  solution,  "because  he 
is  friendlv  to  Pacifv  the  Potter." 


A   MISS,    BUT  A   GOOD   LINE  SHOT.  301 

Ipbigeneia  laid  her  work  down  on  lier  lap, 
crossed  her  hands  on  the  idle  needles,  and  after 
musing  a  moment  in  silence,  inquired  : 

*' Friendly  to  which  r' 

*'  To  Pacify  the  Potter,"  replied  her  wa^^like 
parent,  with  evident  ill  humor.  "  Pacify  the  Pot- 
ter ;  can't  you  see?  Potter ;  Pacify  the  Potter." 

"Ye-es,"  replied  Iphigeneia,  "yes,  I  see 
W'hat  you  mean,  I  guess,  but  his  name  wasn't 
Pacify,  it  was  Palissy  ;  Palissy  the  Potter." 

And  then  Agamemnon  threw  his  helmet  on 
the  floor,  and  said  something  savage  about  the 
stupid  French  not  knowing  how  to  spell  a 
man's  name  anyhow,  and  went  and  told  Calchas 
he  was  tired  of  fooling  around  here,  and  if  he 
couldn't  tell  him  when  they  were  going  to  have 
good  sailing  weather,  he'd  discharge  him  in  a 
minute,  and  hire  old  Professor  Tice,  or  else  de- 
pend on  the  United  States  signal  service  reports. 
And  ten  minutes  later  the  revengeful  Calchas 
had  cooked  up  a  plan  for  cutting  Iphigeneia's 
neck  off. 

It  appears,  from  the  teachings  of  history, 
that  it  was  just  as  hard  to  build  a  conundrum 
that  would  stay,  away  back  in  prehistoric  times 
as  it  is  to-day. 


302  EECRKATIONS   IN    MYTHOLOGY. 


RECREATIONS    IX  MYTHOLOGY. 

^'IIaye    some   yourself,"    sliouted   tlie   un- 
happy son  of  ^olus,  i^ausing  in  his  professional 


THE    AME>-ITIES    OF    TARTAP.US. 
SISYPHUS  ANT)  TA>'TALCS   "  SA5SLNG  "   EACH  OTHEB. 

duties  \vith  the  big  stone,  to  look  at  his  neigh- 
bor in  the  water,  who  was  doing  his  level  best 


RECREATIONS  IN  MYTHOLOGY.      303 

to  take  a  modest  quencher,  but  was  always 
frustrated  by  his  enforced  and  perpetual  red- 
ribbon  vows.  ''  Drink  hearty,  Tantalus,  you're 
welcome." 

^' Thank  you,  good  Sisyphus,"  replied  the 
disconsolate  Phrygian,  with  an  equally  fine 
play  of  delicate  sarcasm;  "put  a  brick  under 
the  stone  to  hold  it,  and  come  down  and  have 
some  of  the  fruit.  Don't  tire  yourself  out 
working  all  the  time.  Come  down  and  have  a 
cool  bath." 

"Not  any,"  replied  the  Corinthian,  "  I  don't 
like  a  plunge  bath  ;  I  prefer  asking  our  patient 
friend  with  the  sieve  there  for  a  shower  bath, 
when  I  perform  my  ablutions.  But  don't  you 
get  awfully  tired  of  so  much  water  and  fruit  f' 

"  Oh,  not  to  speak  of,"  Tantalus  said,  lying 
with  the  easy  grace  of  a  paragrapher  ;  "  I  must 
prefer  this  quiet,  meditative  solitude  to  the 
active  cares  and  the  fatigues  of  a  life  of  labor. 
It  is  a  source  of  amazement  to  me,  at  times,  to 
watch  your  persistent  struggles  with  that  rough, 
grimy,  and  unstable  stone." 

"Oh,  I'm  fond  of  action;  I  live  by  exer- 
cise," replied  Sisyphus,  as  calmly  and  unbhish- 
ingly  as  though  he  was  a  witness  in  a  whisky 


304  KECREATIONS   IX   MYTIIOLOGY. 

case.  ''Look  at  my  muscle,"  he  added,  dis- 
playing a  biceps  as  big  as  a  watermelon,  "you 
bet  your  boots  I  could  burst  the  jaw  of  all  the 
Furies  this  side  of  the  Stj'x.  But  I  say,"  he 
continued,  with  a  shout  of  laughter,  as  Tantalus 
made  a  sudden  but  ineffectual  duck  at  the 
receding  water  with  his  chin,  "  when  you  try 
to  take  a  drink  you  remind  me  of  President 
Hayes  reaching  after  popularity  with  a  policy 
scoop.  You  come  about  as  near  getting  it,  too." 

"And  when  I  see  you  trying  to  get  that 
stone  to  some  place  on  the  hill  where  it  will 
stick,"  shouted  tlie  indignant  Tantalus,  "you 
make  me  think  of  the  republican  party." 

"And.  whyfor?"  asked  Sisyphus,  as  he 
leaned  against  the  stone  and  held  it  in  i^lace 
\vith  his  back  while  he  spat  on  his  hands. 

"Because,"  said  Tantalus,  "it  has  only  to 
carry  fourteen  democratic  congressional  dis- 
tricts next  election  in  order  to  get  a  majority  in 
the  next  lioiise." 

And  just  then  the  boss  Fury  came  along  and 
stirred  up  the  menagerie  with  a  live  snake,  and 
the  convention  let  go  of  politics  and  resumed 
the  consideration  of  the  business  on  the 
speaker's  table. 


INSURANCE  OX   THE  TIBER.  305 

IXSUHAXCE  ox  THE  TIBER. 

*' Marcus  Cjelius,"  Cicero  said  to  bis  legal 
friend,  meeting  him  one  morning  on  the  other 
side  of  a  screen  under  the  capitol,  "  what  shall 
it  be^' 

Cselius  said  be  wonld  take  a  little  spiritiis 
fumenti  optimns,  straight,  and  the  orator  re- 
marking that  that  was  about  the  size  of  his, 
went  on  : 

"I  wish  you  would  get  out  the  necessary 
papers  some  time  to-day,  and  bring  suit  for  me 
against  the  Yellow  Tiber  Fire  and  Marine 
Insurance  Company,  for  the  amount  of  its  poli- 
cies on  my  villa  at  Tusciilum  and  my  town 
house." 

M.  CcTeliiis  looked  up  in  amazen:en\ 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "when  did  they 
burn  down  ?  And  what  was  it  ?  Accident  ? 
Mob  ?     Some  of  Clodius*  people  ?" 

"No,"  Cicero  said,  "  they  are  intact  as  yet, 
and  in  fact,  I  haven't  insured  them  yet,  but  I 
am  going  to  do  so  to  morrow,  and  I  want  to 
bring  suit  against  the  company  now,  so  that  if 
they  ever  should  happen  to  barn,  I  won't  have 
quite  so  long  to  wait  for  the  money." 
20 


306  INSURANCE  ON   THE  TIBER. 

Cselius  saw  that  the  orator's  head  was  level, 
and  brought  suit  that  afternoon.  Eleven  years 
afterward  the  villa  at  Tusculum  and  the  town 
house  were  both  destroyed  hy  tire.  The  suit 
had  by  that  time  been  in  live  different  courts, 
and  had  been  confirmed,  and  reversed,  and  re- 
manded, and  referred  to  the  master  to  take 
proof,  and  stricken  from  the  docket,  and 
amended,  and  rebutted,  and  surrebutted,  and 
impleaded,  and  rejoindered,  and  hied,  and 
quashed,  and  continued  until  nobody  knew 
what  it  was  about,  and  Cicero  wasnotilied,  three 
weeks  after  the  fire,  that  he  would  liave  to  prove 
willful  and  long  continued  absence  and  neglect, 
as  he  could  not  get  a  decree  simply  on  grounds 
of  incompatibility  of  temperament.  And  when 
he  went  to  the  secretary  of  the  company,  that 
official  told  him  the  company  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  the  fire  and  had  no  time  to  attend 
to  such  things.  The  company's  business,  the 
secretary  said,  was  to  insure  houses,  not  to  run 
around  to  lires,  asking  about  the  insurance.  If 
he  wanted  any  information  on  those  points,  he 
would  have  to  ask  the  firemen  or  the  newspaper 
reporters. 

The  more  a  man  reads  in  these  old  histories, 


THE   ODD   I   SEE.  307 

the  more  he  is  convinced  that  the  insurance 
business  in  the  days  of  the  prsetors  was  a  great 
deal  more  like  it  is  to-day. 


THE  ODD   I  SEE. 

What  time  Ulysses,  in  the  frosty  morn, 

Prepared  to  face  tlie  fierce  November  storm, 

His  well-saved  winter  duds  he  eager  seeks, 

And  in  each  closet's  dark  recess  ho  peeks. 

"Eheu  I''  he  cries,  "my  ulster  is  not  here, 

Kor  in  their  place  the  heavy  boots  appear ; 

My  seal-skin  cap,  when  I  would  put  it  on, 

From  its  accustomed  peg  is  surely  gone. 

I  see  no  scarf  ;  by  Venus  and  her  loves, 

Some  son  of  Mercury  hath  cribbed  my  gloves. 

Mehercule  !  who's  got  my  chest  protector  ? 

I'm  cleaned  out  by  some  savings  bank  director." 

With  that  he  ripped,  and  roared,  and  cussed  and  swar', 

"While  all  his  household  looked  on  from  afar. 

To  him,  at  length,  with  grieving,  downcast  eyes, 

Faithful  Penelope,  distracted,  cries  : 

"  Ulysses,  hush  ;  such  actions  more  become 

One  who  is  steeped  in  old  Xew  England  rum. 

Why  wag  your  tongue  with  neither  rhyme  nor  reason, 


308 


THE   ODD   T    SEE. 


For  tilings  that  are  so  useless  out  of  season? 
Why  should  an  ulster  cumber  up  the  wall, 
When  August  sun-rays  fiercely  on  us  fall  ? 
AVhy  should  your  winter  boots  impede  our  way, 
When  July  sunstrokes  hold  their  fatal  sway  ? 
Go  to  ;  when  summer's  sun  was  hot  and  strong 
The  plaster  })aris  peddler  came  along  ; 
Quick  for  his  wares  I  changed  each  winter  robe, 
And  sent  him  burdened  down  the  dusty  road. 
I  think,  forsooth,  your  senseless  rant'll  cease 
When  you  behold  our  plastered  mantel-piece." 

He  views  the  mantel  ;  on  his  knotted  face, 

Frowns     scatter     smiles,     and 

smiles     the    dark     frowns 

chase. 
He  pauses  for  a  space,  then  sits 

him  down, 
And  makes  him  ready  to  go  off 

down  town. 
First   pulls,    to    save    himself 

from  snow  and  sleet, 
Two   plaster  paris   kittens    on 

his  feet. 
Around  his   neck,  with   cotton 

thread,  he  ties 
A  snow-white  angel  with  the  bluest  eyes. 
Napoleon,  with  his  crossed  arms  firmly  pressed, 


A    PLASTER-OF-PARISIA^' 
OUTFIT. 


EGYPTIAN    PHILOSOPHY.  809 

He  binds  upon  liis  cougli-affected  chest. 

Two  jet  black  dogs  with  gilded  collar-bands, 

lie  draws  for  gloves  upon  his  trembling  hands, 

AVhile  a  huge  plaster  paris  billy  goat, 

Swings  o'er  his  shoulders  for  an  overcoat. 

Loud  laugh  the  gods,  as  down  the  street  he  strides 

And  e'en  Penelope  his  style  derides. 


EGYPTIAN    PHILOSOPHY. 

"Erastotiiexes,"  asked  his  master,  Cal- 
limachiis,  one  morning  when  they  were  taking 
their  morning's  morning  down  near  the  temple 
of  Hephaestus,  "  Erastothenes,  why  is  the — 
just  a  little  more  dash  of  tlie  bitters,  Johnny — 
why  is  the  bread  bowl  of  the  Ptolemies  like  this 
obelisk  of  R-ameses  ?"  "  Is  it  anything,"  asked 
Erastothenes,  watching  the  man  behind  the 
counter  slice  the  lemon,  "is  it  anything  about 
putting  up  a  stove?"  "jSTo,"  was  the  reply. 
"Is  it  anything  about  neither  of  them  being 
able  to  climb  a  tree?"  "No."  "Then,"  said 
the  philosopher,  "I  give  it  up."  "Because," 
said   the   poet,     "it  is    Cleopatra's    kneadle." 


310  STUDIES   OF   THE   ANTIQUE. 

And  then  these  two  great  men  looked  long  and 
.silently  into  their  glasses,  and  stirred  them  in 
an  abstracted  manner,  until  Calliniachus  re- 
marked, ''Well,  here's  at  you,''  and  they 
leaned  back  th<^ir  heads  with  a  gurgling  sound, 
while  the  fragrant  breath  of  a  lemon  peel 
lloated  off  on  the  morning  air,  like  a  dream  of 
the  tropics.  The  world  is  not  what  it  used  to 
be! 


STUDIES  OF  THE  AXTIQUE. 

It  was  the  evening  after  Hector's  last  attack 
upon  the  Greek  camp,  and  there  was  a  general 
gloom,  as  usual  after  these  matinees,  over  the 
entire  community.  The  son  of  Peleus,  yawning 
over  a  volume  of  the  report  of  the  committee  on 
the  "conduct  of  the  war,"  turned  to  Agamem- 
non, and  said, 

''  Why  were  there  no  democratic  papers  pub- 
lished in  Israel  or  Judea  ?" 

The  king  of  men  chewed  his  toothpick  for  a 
few  moments  in  deep  reflection,  and  then  he 
said  he  didn't  know,  unless  it  was  because  the 


STUDIES    OF   THE   ANTIQUE.  RU 

Mosaic  laws  were  so  terribly  down  on  all  kinds 
of  vice  and  immorality. 

But  the  swift-footed  Achilles  said  that 
wouldn't  do  at  all,  and  Patroclus,  dearest  and 
most  honored  among  "the  brazen- coated  Achai- 
ans  in  the  war,"  said  that  maybe  it  was  because 
the  Israelites  were  a  commercial  nation,  and 
wouldn't  sell  ink  and  paper  on  long  time. 

The  son  of  ^-Eacus  shook  his  head.  The 
silver-tongued  Odysseus  suggested  that  prob- 
ably it  was  because  there  were  no  railroads  in 
the  country,  consequently  no  editorial  excur- 
sions nor  free  passes,  and  therefore,  no  incentive 
to  publish  a  paper.     But  Achilles  said  : 

"No;  because  there  is  no  letter  ''f"  in 
the  Hebrew.  Nothing  to  make  a  democratic 
paper.  Nothing  to  write  about.  Nothing  to 
say.  How  could  they  spell  'fraud'  without 
an  fr' 

And  the  wily  Ulysses,  who  wasn't  very  well 
read  up  in  politics,  said  that  was  too  deep  for 
him. 


ol2  HOME   LIFE   OF   THE    A^XIEXTS. 


HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  AXCIEXTS. 

It  was  a  dismal,  rainy  day  in  December. 
S(»crates,  who  had  no  umbrella,  and  in  fact 
didn't  have  time  to  live  until  the  first  one  was 
made,  stood  on  the  front  steps  of  his  house, 
drawing  his  cloak  around  him,  before  venturing 
down  the  street.  From  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  his  friend  Theremenes,  passing  by, 
familiarly  hailed  him  as  "  Soc,-'  and  shouted  : 

''Blustery  this  morning." 

**  Yes,"  replied  tlie  philosopher,  "it's  cold." 

"Iley'^"  suddenly  shot  the  voice  of  Xan- 
tippe,  from  a  second  story  window;  ''hey? 
what's  that?" 

"I  said,"  exclaimed  Socrates,  promptly 
throwing  up  his  guard  and  backing  prudently 
into  the  doorway  ;  "I  say  it's  scold." 

"  Said  what  ?"'  was  the  sharp  rejoinder  "  you 
say  that  again,  and  say  it  slow." 

''It's  cold,"  repeated  the  philosopher  ;  "it's 
scold  ;  it's  cold  ;  it's  scold  as  ice,  I  said." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which 
Xantippe  appeared  to  be  buried  in  profound 
thought,  while  the  great  disciple  of  Anaxagoras 


i:o:jA:r  domestic  life.  313 

occupied  tlie  painful  interval  by  girding  up  his 
loins  and  tucldng  his  trousers  in  the  tops  of  his 
boots,    and  making    other  preparations   for  a  ' 
lively  run.     Presently   there    came    from    the 
window  : 

''  You  hold  on  there  a  minute,  young  man, 
till  I  come  down.  I  want  to  see  you  a  second 
before  you  go  down  town." 

There  was  a  fierce,  rapid  flapping  of  Attic 
sandals  upon  the  wet  i)avement,  the  wild  rush 
of  a  cloaked  figure  through  the  peltering  rain, 
and  ten  minutes  later  Socrates  was  explaining 
to  Plato  and  Xenophon  that  he  had  cliased  a 
srreet  car  all  the  way  from  the  Peiraic  gate,  and 
was  clear  out  of  breath. 


EOMAN  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 

It  was  along  about  the  kalends  of  May  when 
Coriolanus  went  into  the  hall  closet  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  and  brought  forth  a  pair  of  his  last 
summer  trousers.  The  mailed  hand,  that  "like 
an  eagle  in  a  dove  cote,  fluttered  the  Voices  in 
Corioli,"    dropped  with   a  gesture  of  despair 


314  KOMAN   DOMESTIC   LIFE. 

when  he  beheld  a  yawning  postern  gate  in  the 
jiaiinent,  where  breach  or  fissure  there  should 
have  been  none.  To  him,  his  true  and  honor- 
able wife,  the  fair  Yirgilia,  said  : 

''Now  the  gods  crown  tliee,  Coriolanus, 
what  appears  to  be  the  trouble  with  you  ?" 

''  Nov/  the  god3  mend  these  trousers,  oh,  my 
gracious  silence!"  rei)lied  Coriolanus.  "See 
what  a  rent  the  envious  tooth  of  time  has 
made." 

Yirgilia  dropped  her  tender,  beaming  eyes 
and  drew  a  heavy  sigh,  as  she  turned  and  dived 
mournfidly  into  the  rag  bag  to  hunt  for  a 
l^atch. 

"My  lord  and  husband,"  she  said,  wearily 
dragging  up  bits  of  red  llannel,  tufts  of  raw 
cotton,  scraps  of  calico,  tags  of  carpet  rags,  and 
finding  nothing  that  would  match  the  lavender 
trousers  any  nearer  than  a  slab  of  seal-brown 
empress  cloth.  "I've  patched  those  trousers 
till  my  eyes  and  fingers  ache  at  the  sight  of 
them.  I  would  the  immortal  gods  would  send 
on  E-ome  and  to  our  house  the  one  unending 
blessing  of  eternal  piece." 

Coriolanus  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  mo- 


THE    PUPILS   OF   SOCRATES.  315 

ment,  but  couldn't  tell  from  her  unrippled  face 
whether  she  meant  it  or  not. 

"  And  I  too,  thou  noble  sister  of  Publicola," 
he  said,  "1  too,  thou  moon  of  Eome,  for  my 
great  soul,  to  fear  invulnerable,  is  weary  of  the 
restless  God  of  wore." 

Yirgilia  dropi^ed  the  rag-bag  and  looked  up 
at  him  quickly,  but  he  never  smiled. 

"Keno,"  she  said. 

"Put  it  there,"  he  said,  and  then  they  both 
promised  they  would  never  behave  so  like 
mouthing  paragraphers  again. 


THE    PUPILS    OF    SOCRATES. 

OxE  morning,  on  their  way  to  the  academy, 
and  while  they  were  yet  in  the  city,  two  emi- 
nent disciples  of  Socrates,  who  were  cramming 
for  the  junior  examination  as  they  walked  along, 
heard  the  human  voice  uttering  remarks  in  the 
female  language  at  a  rate  of  one  hundred  and 
ninety  words  a  minute.  The  remarks  were 
made  in  pure,  classical  Greek.  Both  students 
paused  to  listen. 


316 


THE    PUPILS    OF   SOCilATES. 


'*  Construe,"   said  Apolloclorus,   with  mock 
sternness. 

"It  is  the  old  girl,  Xantippe." 
"And  yonder  goes  the  master,"  said  Apol- 
>3c^  lodorus,  as  a 

"^''  i^Wm  venerable- 

loo  k  i  n  g 
man,     in    a 
linen  duster 
and    a    hel- 
met hat,  fled 
s  Av  i  f  t  1  y 
down  a  side 
street  in  the  direction 
of    the    Peiraic    gate, 
hotly    pursued    by    a 
""'"""""[Mil , "-     cistern    pole     with    a 
—  red-headed  woman  at 

THE    PURSUIT    OF   KNOWLEDGE,    ^i  t  *       -x  i    -i 

the  end  of  it,  while 
the  boys  of  the  neighborhood  rent  the  air  with 
shouts  of  "Whoa,  Emma!"  and  "  Soc  et 
tuum  !" 


hector's  last.  317 


HECTOR'S    LAST. 

*' Andromache,"  said  Hector,  who  was  sit- 
ting on  the  floor  in  Priam's  palace,  tying  a  cran- 
berry on  his  bunion,  and  swearing  vengeance  on 
the  man  who  invented  box-toed  sandals  ;  "  An- 
dromache." 

Andromache,  who  was  getting  ready  for  the 
bawl  that  was  to  come  off  as  soon  as  the  Greeks 
got  inside  of  Troy,  tried  to  say,  "What  do  you 
want'f '  but  as  her  mouth  was  full  of  hair-pins 
she  only  said  : 

"Wup  poo  you  wup?" 

The  godlike  Hector  understood  her  all  the 
same,  and  with  a  terrible  grimace  as  he  drew 
the  bandage  a  little  too  tight,  he  said  : 

"Why  is  Hawke^-e  creek  like  Hell  Gate 
rock  V ' 

Andromache,  who  knew  Hector  was  going 
out  to  light  that  morning,  was  wondering  how 
she  would  look  in  black,  and  didn'  t  understand 
just  what  he  said. 

"I  didn't  know,"  she  remarked,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise,  ^'  that  Hawki  Krick  did  like  Helga 
Trock." 


818 


hector's  last. 


Hector  ceased  to  pet  bis  bunion  for  a  moment 
and  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  business. 
Then,  with  the  explicit  intonation  of  a  man  who 
has  a  good  thing  and  isn't  going  to  be  trilled 
with,  he  repeated  his  question. 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Andromache,  with  a  matter- 
of-fact  air,  "I suppose  it's  because  it's  a  blasted 
nuisance." 

And    Hector, 
wlio  liad  sat  up 
lialf     tlie     night 
fixing   the  tiling 
up,  kicked  his  san- 
dal clear  across  the 
room  in  supreme  dis- 
gust, and  said,    tes- 
tily : 

"Aw, shaw!  some- 
body told  you  !" 

And  then  he  gath- 
ered his  two-handed 
sword  with  the  ter- 
rible name  and  went 
out  and  chased 
Greeks  up  and  down  the  sand,  and  ]lbunded 
Bome,  and  talked  the  hardest  kind  of  Latin,  that 


DELETERIOUS  EFFECTS  OF  A  BAD 

COXU^*DRrM  UPON  THE  MIND 

OF  HECTOR. 


hector's   last.  319 

no  fellow  could  scan,  to  many  others  for  two 
long  mortal  hours,  and  when  he  came  back  he 
said  he'd  like  to  bet  somebody  lifty  dollars  there 
were  some  people  about  Troy  that  had  a  little 
courteous  respect  for  original  conundrums,  any- 
how. 

But  Andromache  only  said.  '*  Construe,  con- 
strue I"  and  that  made  him  so  mad  he  borrowed 
an  opera-glass  and  went  to  see  the  female  min- 
strels. 


THE   E>D. 


1880 


1880. 


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G.    IK    CARLE  TON  ^  CO:S  PUBLICATIONS. 


5^ 


H.  M.  S.  Pinafore— The  Play  ....§ 

Pa  lor  Music  Album i 

Comic   Primer  — Prank    Pjtilew   ... 

He  and   I — Sarah    B.  Stebbins 50 

Annals  of  a   Baby.          Do        ...         50 
Parlor  Table    Companion i  50 


Miscellaneous    Works. 


Me — Mrs.  Spencer    W.   Coe 

Trump  Kards— J.jsh  Pilling? 

Little  Guzzy — John  Habbcrton 

Lady  Huckleberry's  Opinions.  . 

Offenbach  in   America 

Rural  Architecture — M.  Held 

Coney  Island  and  thejews 

Book  About    Lawyers— Jefferson 
Book  About    Doctors.  Do. 

Glimpses  of  the  Supernatural  .. 
Widow  Spriggins-Widow  Pedoit. 


50 


1  50 

2  00 


50 

50   I 


Madame  —  Frank   T 

Hammer  and  Anvil —      Do.  Do.,    i  50 

Her  Friend  Lawrence— Do.  Do.,    i  50 

Sorry  Her  Lot — Miss  Grant 1  00 

Two  of  Us — v.alista  Halsey 75 

Spell-Bound — Alexandre  Dumas,.       75 

Wired   Love— 1*'..  C.  'I'hayer 75 

Cupid  on  Crutches— A.  K   Wood.       75 

Doctor  Ai.tonio — G.    Kuifini i  50 

Ange— Piorcnce  Marryalt i  00 

Errors— Riit'n  Carter i  50 

Heart's  Delight— Mrs.  Alderdice.  i  50 
Unmistakable  Flirtation-L. Garner 
Wild   Oats  — I- lo-cnt  c  Marryatt.... 
True  Love  Rewarded— A.  S.  Roe 
Widow  Cherry — K,  L.  F.irjeon... 
Solomon  Isaacs —      Do.     Do. 
Led  Astray— Py  Octnve  Fcuillet.. 
She  Loved  Him'  Madly — Porys... 

Thick   and  Thin— Mery 

So  Fair  yet  False — Chavette... 
A  Fatal  Passion— C.  Pemnrd  ... 
Woman  in  the  Case— K.  I  umer.. 
Marguerite's  Journal— For  Girls. 
Milly  Dirrel-M.  E.  Braddon. . . .  ; 
Edith  Murray — Joanna  Mathews..  ; 
Doctor  Mortimer — Fannie  Bean.. 
Outwitted  at  Last— S.  A.  Gardner 

Vesta  Vane— L.  King.  R ; 

Louise  and  I — C.  R.  Dodge 

My  Queen— By  Sindette 

Fallen    among  Thieves— Ra>-ne.. 

San  Miniato  — Mrs.  Hamilton i  00 

Peccavi— F.rr.ma    Wendler i   50 

Conquered— Py  a  New  Author i  50 

Shiftless  Folks- Fannie  Smith  ...  i  50 
Baroness  of  N.  "V.— Joaquin  Miller  i  50 
One  Fair  Woman—  Do.  Do.  i  50 
Another  Man's  Wife— Mrs.  Hartt  1  50 
Purple  and  Fine  Linen — Fawcett.  i  50 
Pauline's  Trial— L.  D.  Courtney.,  i  50 
The  Forgiving  Kiss — ^^  Loth...   i  75 


Victor  Hugo— .Autobiography $1 

Orpheus  C     Kerr— 4  vols,  in  one..  2 

Fanny  Fern   Memorials 2 

Parodies  — C.  H.  Webb  (John  Paul)  i 
My  Vacation.  Do.         Do.        1 

Sandwiches — Artemus  Ward 

Comic  History  U.  S.-L.  Hopkins  i 

Watchman  of  the  Night ..   1 

Nonsense  Rhymes-W.  H.  Beckett  i 

Sketches— John  H.    Kingsbury 1 

Lord  Baieman-Cruikshank's  ni.. 
Northern  Ballads-P.  L.Anderson  i 

Bsldazzle  Bachelor  Poems 1 

Wood's  Guide  to  N.  Y.  City 1 

Only   Caprice  —  I'aper  ojvcrs 

Was  it  Her  Fault.  Do 

Fashion  and  Passion.  Do 

Miscellaneons    Novels. 

cncdict     $1  50    I    All  For  Her— A  tale  of  New  York  $1 
All  For  Him  — By  All  For  Her....  1 

For  Each  Other—      Do i 

Janet— An  Kpglish  novel i 

Innocents  from  Abroad i 

Flirtation— .\  West  Point  novel i 

Loyal  unto  Death 1 

That  Awful  Boy 

That  Bridget  of  Ours 

Bitterwood— By  M.  A.  Green i 

St   Peter's  Bride— Mrs.  S.  Harper  i 
Fizzlebury's  Girl — De  Cordova... 
Eros — -A  tale  of  love  and  soda  water. 
A  Woman  in  Armor— Hartwdl. ..    1 
Phemie  Frost— Ann  S.  Stephens.,   i 

Charette— An  American  novel i 

Fairfax —  lohn  tsten  Cooke i 

Hilt  to  Hilt.  Do 1 

Out  of  the  Foam.     Do 1 

Hammer  and  Rapier. Do 1 

Warwick— Py  M.  T.Walworth 1 

Lulu.  Do 1 

Hotspur.  Do 1 

Stormcliff.  Do     i 

Delaplaine.  Do i 

Beverly.  Do i 

Seen  and  Unseen i 

Kenneth.  My  King— S.  A.  Brock.   1 
Heart  Hungry-M.J.Westmoreland  i 

Clifford  Troupe.  Do 1 

Silcott  Mill  — Maria  D.  Deslonde..    1 
Do I 


50 


50 


John  Marii-el. 
Passing  the  Portal — Mrs.  Victor. 
Out  of  the  Cage— G.  W.  Owen.  . 
Saint  Leger— Richard  B  Kimball. 
V/as  He  Successful?  Do. 
Undercurrents  of  "Wall  St.Do... 
Romance  of  Student  Life.  Do... 
To- Day.  Do... 
Life  in  San  Domingo.  Do... 
Henry  Powers,  Banker.  Do... 
Manfred — Guerrazzi 


75 

75 
75 

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9J1721)3 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


